


Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage - Vol. I: Fear

by SilverPatronus19



Series: Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger-centric, Light Angst, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 78,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverPatronus19/pseuds/SilverPatronus19
Summary: When Voldemort’s adversaries escape capture, they are forced to leave a beloved friend behind. An unwilling enemy takes control against all fear to try and do the right thing, and the fate of the war may now rest in his uncertain hands.
Series: Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015963
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: Harry Potter





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> SUGGESTED RATING  
> 13+
> 
> WARNINGS  
> On par with Harry Potter series, this story contains descriptions of violence and death in a fantasy setting.  
> Mild language.  
> No sexual content. 
> 
> MENTAL HEALTH TRIGGERS  
> Contemplation of character suicide.  
> Acknowledgment of non-character suicide.  
> Acknowledgment of past child abuse, semi-descriptive.
> 
> DISCLAIMER  
> I am not JK Rowling and I have no claim over her world or her characters; I am borrowing them for non-profit fan fiction enjoyment. 
> 
> In the first few chapters of this story I retell pieces of the Harry Potter books from different characters’ perspectives, and I use some lines of text and dialogue directly from the first edition of each book. These belong to JK Rowling; I merely embellish in my own words. 
> 
> This fan fiction is intended for enjoyment and is not intended to be a criticism of JK Rowling’s brilliant work, nor a desire to begin arguments between myself and other fans. 
> 
> My love of the Harry Potter series is unrelated to JK Rowling’s individual views and opinions. 
> 
> I am the owner of the plot of this story, and of an original verse which appears in Vol. II: Resistance. This is my own work and may not be copied. 
> 
> This work is posted to Archive of Our Own and may not be copied to other sites.
> 
> Regarding the “true” Harry Potter story, the reader may assume that although I add my own embellishments, this fan fiction is canon-compliant until midway through Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, at which point I finish the series differently and add another “novel” of my own creation. 
> 
> Happy reading,  
> SilverPatronus19

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**PROLOGUE**

For as long as she could remember, Hermione Granger had been terrified of snakes.

She wasn’t sure where the fear came from; perhaps she had seen a photo or cartoon in her early years that stuck with her. Regardless, even pictures of snakes made her skin crawl and made her want to climb her bookcase to the very top shelf, despite her fear of heights.

In one of her earliest memories, she awoke with a scream in the middle of the night because she could see a snake slithering across her bedroom floor. Her father burst in, and she felt a little ashamed after he picked up the snake, which turned out to be her skipping rope. Her father sat with her until she fell asleep. She remembered him stroking her nut-brown hair softly and whispering, “It’s okay to be afraid, but you mustn’t let it control you.”

When a class field trip took her to the London Zoo for the first time, she literally came face to face with her fear: a giant boa constrictor that she imagined swallowing her up in a single gulp. Rather than be controlled by her fear or deterred by her giggling classmates, she marched her little shoes right up to the glass and announced to the snake:

“I’m afraid of you. But that’s okay.” She stomped on; her head held high.

*** *** ***

Lucius Malfoy was a man who didn’t show fear. He _controlled_ it.

His son, however, was a very fearful child. Draco Malfoy didn’t like flying bugs, especially bees; he didn’t like the dark, especially when he could hear unexplained noises coming from dark places; and he was utterly terrified of thunderstorms. After Draco’s fifth birthday, Lucius insisted it was time for Draco to have his own bedroom away from the nursery attached to the master suite. Draco faced being alone and away from his mother for the first time.

“Wizards aren’t afraid to sleep alone,” Lucius would say in his proud voice. Draco watched his mother’s soft lips form her sweet, gentle smile which meant, “Do what your father says, and everything will be alright.”

Draco tried to be brave, but his first week in his new room saw one of the harshest, loudest storms he’d ever experienced. His terrified legs carried him out of bed and back to his mother, but his father would have none of it. “You must control your fear,” Lucius said sharply. “Otherwise, it controls you.”

Little Draco buried himself in his closet under his favourite soft blanket, his fear of the dark falling second to the pounding hail and crashing thunder. He crawled out the next morning – still alive – to greet the sun. He refused to face his father that day from shame.

*** *** ***

As medical professionals, Hermione’s parents were rational and scientific people. They filled their house with books ranging from dentistry to archaeology to microbiology. Hermione longed to be like her parents: they could answer any question her sharp little mind conjured, or they would give her the correct book to discover the answers herself. When she admitted her fears, her parents helped her understand them.

“Fear of heights is natural for most humans, and a fear of snakes is quite logical,” her mother would reassure her. “Snakes can be dangerous; the fear means you value your life and you want to stay clear of danger. You’re a very intelligent girl.”

Heartened, Hermione began to study books about snakes. She wanted to learn the difference between harmless and deadly ones. Gradually she alleviated her fear of snakes thanks to the statistical unlikelihood of dangerous ones attacking her in Britain. Her patient parents never pushed her fear of heights by forcing her onto roller coasters or even ladders unless she felt brave enough; the only height she didn’t mind at all was when her father swung her up into the air to perch on his broad shoulders.

Like her parents, Hermione took to books like a fish to water. She absorbed everything she could reach until she grew big enough to reach the next shelf and then she kept right on going. She had little tolerance for fiction and preferred to immerse herself in anatomy and chemistry. When something confused or frightened her, she researched until she could understand it.

She loved accompanying her parents to work, so she could see the clean rooms and top-of-the-line dental surgery equipment. Her father sometimes allowed her to sit and watch when other children had their teeth examined. Hermione could correctly name all her own baby teeth as they fell out of her mouth. She was not afraid, even when there was lots of blood, because she knew her teeth fell out for a reason.

Not in her wildest dreams did she expect something to happen that she couldn’t explain.

It started when she was making tea one afternoon, a simple task she’d done countless times. Yet, the flame on the cooker somehow lit itself under the kettle before she turned the knob. She convinced herself it must be a strange fluke and pressed on. Later, she found herself thinking of one of her favourite books about animals only to hear a thump from behind her, making her screech. The very book inexplicably fell the bookcase and landed on the floor, open to her favourite page about Eurasian otters she’d just been daydreaming about.

She could not ignore two coincidences in the same afternoon.

But for the first time, Hermione couldn’t find the answer to her problem within a book. She was bewildered, and soon the mystery was affecting her normal routine. Odd things continued to happen around her that she couldn’t explain, and her baffled parents drove her back and forth to the library carting books about telekinesis, extra-sensory perception, and even demonic possession. For the first time, their daughter wouldn’t tell them what she was afraid of, because she was terrified that she was going mad. Luckily, they didn’t ask too many questions, as Dr. Granger assumed it was a phase her daughter needed to go through.

Hermione’s research proved frustrating and completely unsuccessful, as the lack of consistency behind any of her research topics convinced her they were utter rubbish. There was no poltergeist in her house, she was not a medium or a telekinetic, and the alignment of certain stars and planets did not affect the gravitational pull of the earth in the space around her body! Desperate, she turned her focus to psychology; despite it being an inexact science, she became fully convinced she was experiencing hallucinations. She determined the hallucinations would abate, but she reluctantly decided to visit a professional if things didn’t improve soon.

When Hermione turned eleven, her questions were finally answered, though not in any way she might have dreamed. Everything changed forever when a tall man with a silver beard, plum-coloured robes, and spectacles so thin they were nearly invisible knocked politely on her parent’s front door.

*** *** ***

Draco was proud to belong to one of the oldest wizarding families in the country. Unfortunately, the idea of being a wizard frightened him sometimes. He knew other wizard boys could make things happen without meaning to, but his own magic seemed to be designed to do nothing but scare him.

Unlike the sharp, determined focus of Lucius’ spell-casting or the soft, elegant waves of Narcissa’s wand, Draco’s encounters with his own magic had mostly been the result of doors slamming or glass breaking in response to a sudden fright. His first memory of his own magic manifesting resulted in a crystal bowl of fruit smashing itself to pieces on the garden table when Draco felt a wasp fly too close to his ear. The shattering of the bowl was so loud it scared him a second time and when he tried to run, he lost his balance and landed hands-first in the broken crystal.

When his accidental magic announced itself in such a manner, his father would turn away with a disappointed shake of the head, and his mother would smile softly and reassure him everything would be alright one day. Narcissa’s gentle touch was the only thing that helped. Her hands were smooth and soft on his pale cheeks, and he could practically feel her warm arms making the angry magic disappear.

“Don’t be afraid of your magic,” she would whisper to him softly. “You will master it one day, just like your father.”

Draco wished for nothing less than to be like his brave father.

*** *** ***

A _witch?_

Through none of her research would Hermione have reached such a daft conclusion. One couldn’t defy the laws of physics with a magic stick! This was perhaps the most absurd explanation for her hallucinations, second only to seeking help from a street-fair psychic. Even after the kindly Professor Dumbledore turned her teacup into a turtle before her very eyes, Hermione had reservations and determined it was some foolish trick.

Several days later, a guide sent by Hogwarts School – _who would give a school such an absurd name?_ – escorted her family through a _magical_ brick wall – surely another trick – into an alley filled with strange shops. Hermione tentatively touched objects she’d never heard of, held a gold coin larger than any standard currency, and even bravely petted a tame owl, though she never particularly cared for birds. This must be an elaborate hoax, she decided. She’d once seen a street performer make his own legs disappear; perhaps this was all some strange illusion being put on by the circus.

Next, the little family was guided into a shop called _Ollivander’s_. Hermione held random pieces of wood in her small hand, rolling her eyes and feeling embarrassed at how silly she must look waving them around.

Until …

The thin, croaky owner of the shop held out a light, flexible piece with elegant carvings down the handle. Hermione touched it carefully, wanting to examine the beautiful carvings more closely.

The moment it touched her hand, her parents were leaping backwards in surprise and shock as golden sparks emitted from the tip. Hermione simply stared in wonder. This thing wasn’t wood. It was a wand. _Her_ wand.

It was _real_. It was _magic._

_MY magic._

Logic failed her, but she was instantly convinced this piece of wood from this tiny, dusty shop had been carved and polished just for her. It was warm in her hand and fit her grip perfectly.

The elderly shop owner looked at her oddly and she immediately demanded to know what was wrong. She was terrified he might take this precious object back from her and say it was all a mistake.

“It is curious, my dear,” the man said softly. “Vine wood like this is not commonly used, and it has been many years since one of these wands chose a witch.” The Grangers’ eyes opened wide. “Yes, the wand chooses the witch. And this wand is designed to accommodate a witch with a hidden depth … a larger purpose.”

Hermione wasn’t sure she completely understood, but it didn’t matter because this wand was _hers_. She handed over the money for it, counting the Galleons out herself. The man offered to put the wand back in its box for her, and she shook her head. She never wanted to let it out of her hand.

*** *** ***

Draco didn’t completely understand the work his father did. He only knew it involved a lot of money, and he wasn’t expected to understand it until he took it over one day.

When business associates visited the Manor, they sometimes brought their own sons. Some of them became Draco’s friends – there was an older boy named Marcus who shared his Quidditch magazines, and a tall boy named Theodore who taught Draco how to play chess. But Draco was always nervous when Gregory and Vincent came to visit, because they were much bigger than him and he was a little afraid of them. Draco was pale and thin like his mother, but where she was willowy and graceful, he was weak and wiry.

Greg’s arm was as big around as Draco’s neck. He threatened Draco often to never get in his way, and Draco happily kept his distance and let Greg and Vince have the run of the Manor when they came over.

Then, for Draco’s eighth birthday, Lucius presented his son with his very first broomstick. Narcissa’s careful eyes made sure Draco didn’t float too high, and that he never flew over the garden’s rough patio stones. On his first day he only fell one time, but his landing on the soft grass had nearly made him laugh. Flying was spectacular and for the first time Draco felt like he controlled a piece of his magic.

Several months later Greg and Vince had been brought around to visit him again. Both boys quickly refused to try Draco’s broom, claiming it was lame and childish. Draco simply shrugged, slipped onto the broom easily and dared to try some new tricks for the first time that he’d only seen in Quidditch magazines – thankfully, his mother was otherwise occupied.

Draco flew fast circles around Vince, who screeched loudly. He started loop-the-loops fifteen feet off the ground and swooped into the garden long enough to seize a small stone, which he lofted at Greg’s hefty backside. The rush of flying and his blessed control over the Comet outstripped all his fear.

He slowly spiraled down and executed a graceful landing on the garden wall, bravely bracing himself for the inevitable beating he’d be sure to get from the larger boys. To his surprise, they began stumbling over each other on their way to him in shocked awe, asking questions and begging him to show them how to fly. Atop the stone wall, Draco was taller than the other boys for the very first time … they were asking him for _help_.

He found he quite liked it.

*** *** ***

Despite the very foundation of her beliefs being practically destroyed, Hermione bravely leapt into her new magical world with the same enthusiasm and thirst for knowledge as she had into the worlds of medicine and science. Her parents kindly provided her with all the books they could carry from Flourish and Blotts so she could learn as much as possible, and they patiently allowed her to explain the entire magical world to them inside and out.

The guide who met with her had explained many things, including rules of underage wizards and how she must not use her wand until she reached school. Hermione clung to every rule and learned as many wizarding laws as possible; she was terrified to accidentally break one and be banished back to regular life.

For months, Hermione scarcely did anything but study. She buried herself in pillows, clutching her precious wand in her left hand and holding a textbook open with the other. She barely slept as she absorbed every word twice, then three times. Turning eleven had hardly meant a great deal to her, but now it meant everything. Her new world had given her hope.

*** *** ***

By age nine, Draco had been allowed to accompany Lucius on several business trips. It was important for Draco to learn how his father managed their money, protected his investments, and managed _inferiors_. Draco learned from a very young age that this word applied to anybody with less money and power than his family – which was almost everybody – but especially to _Muggles_ , the people too weak and too stupid to use magic.

Some of the wizards they dealt with were tall and confident, like Lucius. Draco liked how Lucius greeted and communicated with them. They spoke to each other in big voices and used long words like _exponentially_ and _indiscretion_ , which sounded impressive even though Draco didn’t fully understand. The wizards always greeted each other with a very firm handshake – Draco practiced this handshake often – which meant _you are my equal, and I respect you._

Some wizards they met were quite different. Lucius would speak in his booming, confident voice – which terrified Draco as a young boy – and the wizards would drop everything to obey his orders at once. Draco watched how they would scramble around, stumbling over their words and spluttering promises to his father without making eye contact. Later, Lucius would explain how those men were controlled by fear.

But Draco was a Malfoy after all, and he’d never be like those wizards. He knew he would manage the money one day; he would control the fear of the _inferior_ wizards, and he would speak in a confident, proud voice and shake hands with his _equals_. He could hardly wait.

But he wasn’t there yet; he knew he couldn’t be like Lucius while he was still so scared.

The night before Draco left for Hogwarts, Lucius was not at home. Draco crept into his mother’s room and sought comfort in her gentle arms one last time. He blurted all his terrors: being with so many new people, failing his classes, getting sorted into the wrong house, not making any friends … His sweet mother smoothed down his white-blond hair.

“My brave little dragon. You are already wonderful at flying, and you come from an ancient line of powerful wizards. You will learn to control your magic and your fear, and you will make your father and I so proud.”

She cuddled him close, and he drifted off slowly as she recited her favourite story for him once more: _The Elemental Mage_.

*** *** ***


	2. Of Firsts and Friendships

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 2: Of Firsts and Friendships**

Hermione’s Hogwarts guide had provided her with a train ticket and instructions for entering the magical platform at King’s Cross station. Her parents were prepared to join her, but she refused as kindly as possible. This was her first magical test, and she needed to face her new world. She kissed them goodbye and entered the station all by herself.

She was terrified. _But that’s okay_ , she reminded herself fiercely.

After double-checking her location and triple-checking that no Muggles were watching her lest she break the International Statute of Secrecy, Hermione held her breath and bravely pushed her expertly loaded trolley through the magical barrier.

 _Yes!_ Her first real magical test was completed, and she felt an overwhelming rush of satisfaction … but it didn’t last long. As she took in the massive scarlet locomotive and the sheer number of unfamiliar wizards and witches around her, she nearly ran right back through the barrier. The reality of the situation hit her like a wrecking ball: she was all alone in a brand-new world.

Hermione was trying to remember how to encourage her feet to move when a small voice piped up, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.” She quickly matched the voice to a round-faced boy about her own height, who seemed even more terrified than she. The boy’s companion gave him some reassurances before kissing him goodbye.

As the nervous boy moved towards the train on shaking legs, Hermione saw a chance opening and redirected her trolley. “Hi there, I’m Hermione Granger,” she said confidently. The boy looked at her, surprised to be addressed.

“I’m Neville. Longbottom, that is.”

“I think I heard you say you misplaced your toad?” Hermione had read about toads being common pets among wizards and, like most magical pets, they frequently wandered on their own.

“I’m afraid I’ll leave him behind! He was a gift from my uncle …”

“Not to worry.” Hermione said firmly. “I expect he made it onto the train himself along with all the luggage, and you’ll find him aboard. I can help you look if you like?” Neville smiled in relief and kindly opened the door for her so they could both board the train. The whistle blew and the train began to depart.

“Perhaps we should find a place to sit?” Hermione ventured bravely, ignoring her hammering heart. Neville led the way down the narrow corridor. They finally encountered a compartment occupied only by two Indian girls about their age sitting closely together. Hermione decided they must be twins, although they were dressed quite differently.

“Can we sit here?” Neville asked with a shaking voice. The girls smiled shyly and nodded at him and Hermione heard Neville echo her own sigh of relief. After they all stowed their luggage, the twins introduced themselves as Parvati and Padma Patil. They grew up in New Delhi, but their British father wished to have them schooled at Hogwarts, so they were still new to the country. Hermione was impressed that both girls spoke English very well and only carried trace accents.

Neville quietly spoke about his own family; he was raised by his grandmother – Hermione presumed this was the woman she saw bid him goodbye – and admitted he was terrified of using magic. The Patil twins were likewise concerned about their own magical ability, as they had not been allowed to attempt any spells thus far. Hermione excitedly encouraged the group that it should be alright to practice a little since they were on the school train and the other three pulled out their wands tentatively.

Hermione remembered some of her favourites from the _Standard Book of Spells_ and began with a very simple _Lumos_ to bring light to the end of her wand. She was immediately pleased by the glowing result, and Neville looked impressed. He attempted the same, but his wand emitted a rather pale light by comparison.

Hermione reassured him and instructed him to try again with more confidence. Neville tried, and the light got a little bit brighter. Pleased with herself, Hermione launched into a speech about the other books she’d read and how magic could be different between wizards. The twins seemed to lose interest rather quickly, but Neville kindly listened to her anxious ramblings. After a while, Neville gazed out the window quietly and Hermione began to recognize the all-too familiar feeling of being unwanted in a group.

 _Be brave_ , she thought. Resisting the urge to bury herself behind a book, she asked Neville if he would like to go look for his toad. His eyes lit up and the two ventured into the corridor again. Neville headed left, and she took the right.

*** *** ***

Draco was proud of himself for not crying on the platform when he kissed his mother goodbye as some students had done. Now he was alleviating his fears by lying across several train seats with a forced relaxed expression as he stared desperately at the unfamiliar countryside. Greg and Vince found him quickly and he was surprisingly grateful for their presence when he realized they looked as scared as Draco felt.

They barely settled into their journey when their compartment door unexpectedly opened. “Has anyone here seen a toad?”

Across from Draco, Greg and Vince were rendered utterly speechless. They were being addressed by a stranger, a _girl._ Both pairs of dark eyes immediately flicked over to Draco for guidance. None of the boys had sisters, so none of them had any idea how to speak to girls. Draco was just as startled, but the nervous looks in the other boys’ eyes immediately reminded him of _inferiors_.

Well, he wasn’t about to let a girl control _him_ – a Malfoy – with fear. He bravely stood and faced the newcomer. Her eyes flickered up to him hopefully.

“A toad, eh? Have you checked in that nest on top of your head?” He felt his lips widen into something of a smirk.

Greg and Vince both chortled with laughter and the girl’s cheeks went pink. She turned her hurt face away and muttered, “Never mind,” under her breath as she left quickly.

Draco returned to his seat, still wearing the smirk, which seemed to please the other boys as they praised him. He crossed his legs comfortably and, for the first time today, he felt no fear.

*** *** ***

The encounter with the pale snarky boy left Hermione in dull spirits. Perhaps wizards her age would be just like Muggles after all. She trudged dejectedly back to her compartment where the Patil twins were pulling on their Hogwarts robes for something to do. Hermione followed suit, and found they were more comfortable than she expected. A failed attempt to further conversation with the twins led Hermione to retrieve her favourite book: _Hogwarts, a History_.

She kept to herself and tried out a few more simple spells until Neville returned to the compartment, frantic. “I found him, but then he got away from me again!” he wailed. Hermione leapt to her feet, desperate for an opportunity to meet some nice people. She stuck with Neville this time, knocking on compartment doors, and bravely asking questions.

There were a few older students who sneered condescendingly at the two young first-years, but some people answered Hermione’s questions politely. Her confidence increased as she interacted with the older students, and she became convinced it was only people her own age she was having difficulty communicating with. This was nothing new, but she chalked it up to her peers being afraid of beginning school and decided to give everyone some time to adjust.

She was pleased to learn more about the four houses than only straight facts from _Hogwarts, a History_. She was rather certain she wanted to be a Gryffindor – she couldn’t _possibly_ be smart enough to be placed in Ravenclaw, having only learned about the wizarding world barely a year before.

Hermione was so busy chatting with a group of Ravenclaw third-years that she hadn’t realized Neville was getting ahead of her. Anxious to not lose the only friend she made so far, she quickly followed him and slid open the next compartment door, just as Neville whispered that he’d already asked here.

 _Well, we’re here. I might as well see if they’re anybody nice._ She was glad she’d entered this compartment; there were two boys her own age and the redhead had his wand out.

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”

Hermione excitedly took a seat and the boy stared at her a little before uttering, “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.” Hermione narrowed her eyes. That was certainly not from the _Standard Book of Spells_.

After spending so much time chatting with other students, Hermione found it quite easy to begin talking about the spells she’d learned and how surprised she’d been to discover she was a witch. She’d met surprisingly few people like her from Muggle families and was trying to not become discouraged that she’d be the odd one out. She didn’t realize how fast she spoke until she asked the other boys for their names and they stared at her blankly. She bit her tongue and tried to calm down.

“I’m Ron Weasley,”

“Harry Potter.”

 _He’s in MY year!?_ She tried to keep her excitement buried and her chatter to a minimum before she quickly rejoined Neville so he wouldn’t move on without her again. Becoming friends with Harry Potter himself – surely to become a great wizard – would be _wonderful_. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him. With a bit of luck, he wouldn’t stick around with that unintelligent redhead.

*** *** ***

Draco settled into the train journey with a load of sweets from the trolley. He picked his favourites and allowed Greg and Vince to take the rest. He learned by now that providing them with treats was a sure way to keep them happy around him.

The compartment door slid open and the boys greeted their acquaintance Theodore Nott. Draco tossed him a Chocolate Frog, which Nott opened gratefully.

“Did you hear Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts?”

Draco sat up, interested. “He’s in _our_ year?”

“Yes, he’s down the train, according to a set of Weasleys.” The boys sniggered. They all knew of the Weasleys, a family as old and pure-blooded as themselves but with no money or prestige because, according to their fathers, the head of the Weasley family was a _Muggle-lover_.

“I wonder if Potter would be in Slytherin,” Draco wondered. “He must be pretty powerful if he stopped the Dark Lord himself.”

Nott snorted in response. “My father says the Dark Lord made a mistake, is all. We all know babies can’t control their magic. But I admit Potter would be a good ally if you wanted to gain social favour.”

“Well, one way to find out,” Draco rose to his feet. “Coming?” He was pleased when Crabbe and Goyle immediately abandoned their stack of pasties to join him.

Nott made himself comfortable and pulled out a book. “If I choose to make an alliance with Potter, it’ll be after I see whether he has power worthy to align with my family.”

Draco shrugged and led the way out of the compartment. He was happy to get a head start.

*** *** ***

Draco was surprised he recognized Potter. The boy he met briefly in Diagon Alley had struck Draco as not knowing anything about magic.

Yet, based on the state of his clothes, Potter had clearly been raised by Muggles, which explained his ignorance. What a horrible way for such a famous wizard to grow up! Potter needed him; Draco imagined teaching Potter everything about their world. He would be the _perfect_ friend; his father would be so pleased.

Draco confidently introduced himself, certain the Malfoy name would command its usual respect. He was displeased to have the opposite effect from the gangly redhead. _Weasley_.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

He felt better after Crabbe and Goyle reacted appropriately to his superiority. That took care of the useless Weasley. _Potter doesn’t know my family yet, but he will._ He proudly extended his hand to Harry Potter in the manner of greeting an equal.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” Harry replied coolly.

 _What?!_ Draco froze for a moment, but he refused to be defeated and immediately threatened the pair, who stood up to threaten him right back.

 _Why aren’t they backing down?_ It had worked so well with that girl …

Grateful for his own backup, Draco nudged Goyle as he redirected the pair’s attention to their sweets pile. He hoped the Weasley – who seemed to have chocolate on his nose – would be distracted by Goyle’s attempt to steal their food and Draco would have an opportunity to reason with Potter without interference.

He certainly didn’t expect his plan to be foiled by a rat of all things.

*** *** ***

Their compartment was empty by the time the angry trio made it back, Goyle sucking on his bitten finger. Draco was grateful Nott had left; he didn’t want to explain how poorly his attempt to ally with Potter had gone.

_If he thinks he can treat the Malfoy name this way, he’s gonna pay for it._

_Him and that blood-traitor Weasley._

*** *** ***

Hermione was thrilled to be sorted into Gryffindor as she hoped, and she threw herself into her studies as fast as possible. The sheer size of the Hogwarts library was everything she dreamed, and it seemed she was well on the way to establishing good relationships with her teachers. She’d even won over the harsh-appearing Professor McGonagall, who even _smiled_ at her after their first lesson.

Unfortunately, the very first Potions lesson – which Hermione had been anticipating excitedly – left her in dull spirits. The Potions Master showed obvious favouritism to his own Slytherins and would probably never pay her a second glance. She focused as hard as possible on her potion and tried not to worry that she couldn’t possibly have a good working relationship with the hook-nosed teacher.

It was made worse by Harry Potter’s sarcasm towards the professor. Such an act was utterly sacrilegious to her. She _never_ made fun of authority figures – even if Snape had deserved it – these advanced witches and wizards were the people who could make or break her potential career as a witch! Shocked that the great Harry Potter of all people would stoop so low, she grimly removed all thoughts of befriending the ill-famed, bespectacled boy.

Hermione was going to be a brilliant witch; she had no time for rule-breakers or trouble-makers.

*** *** ***

The injustice made Draco want to scream. _He_ was the best flier, _he_ was the one who awed everyone with his talents, and then bloody _Potter_ bested him! The messy-haired kid had never been on a broom in his life and he managed to outperform a Malfoy!

The worst of it was not that Potter didn’t get punished as he should, but the teachers broke a long-standing school rule to allow Potter the Perfect to play for Gryffindor even though he was a bloody _first year_ , and then he was given his own broom!

Draco didn’t even get a chance. He punched his pillow in anger and refused to allow the stinging tears in his eyes to spill over.

*** *** ***

As September phased into October, Hermione noticed her confidence in her newfound world was making her far chattier than normal.

In Muggle school she always tried to learn quickly and seem intelligent, like her parents. She was used to the other students not understanding how to keep up and resenting her for always being ahead – at least, that’s what her parents always said. Several years back she stopped trying to fit in altogether, and she resigned herself to a quiet, studious life without friends. She focused on her books, kept her head down, and dreamed of the day she could enter medical school and work with real professionals away from giggling girls and oblivious boys.

When she discovered her new world, she leapt at the chance to start over and make friends, but she’d been wholly unsuccessful. Neville Longbottom was kind to her, but rather too focused on his own insecurities to be a devoted friend. Hermione’s dormmates were far too girly; she liked Parvati enough, but the Indian girl was frustrated to be separated from her twin and bonded quickly with Lavender Brown, with whom she had more in common. Hermione exchanged polite conversation with them, but neither of them seemed to share her interest in learning.

Hermione was stubborn and not ready to give up on finding peers to connect with … until the horrible Ron Weasley voiced the very thing she was terrified to hear:

“It’s no wonder no one can stand her … she’s a nightmare, honestly.”

Hermione couldn’t bear it any longer. Tears streamed down her face as she ran.

*** *** ***

Hermione wiped her red eyes fiercely. She was hungry and she knew the Halloween feast would surely be starting, but she couldn’t bring herself to face that heartless Ronald Weasley and the other students who probably wouldn’t even notice she was missing. This was Muggle school all over again.

Perhaps if she kept her mouth shut and simply pushed through her studies, she could maintain good relationships with the Hogwarts professors and find a suitable, meaningful career in the magical world. If she failed – she thought desperately – at least she could return to her parents’ safe house of knowledge.

Hermione took a deep breath and subconsciously clenched her left hand around her wand to give herself strength. She exited the bathroom stall and made for the sink, determined to wash away her tears and keep her head down.

She never reached the sink. A massive figure loomed over her. It was grey, lumpy, and _huge_.

It hadn’t noticed her until she exited the stall, and when it took a step towards her with its club raising, Hermione forgot completely about her wand and let out a scream.

*** *** ***

Hermione stood stiffly just inside the common room, thinking about the strangest evening of her life.

She _never_ lied to a teacher. It went against everything she valued, and she even lost house points for it!

And she had no regrets.

The portrait swung open and two grimy, exhausted boys fell in. Two horrible boys who made fun of her and acted like they couldn’t care less about her.

Two boys who noticed when she was missing … two boys who saved her life.

*** *** ***

Things with Potter and his loyal followers didn’t get better.

It was bad enough that a _Weasley_ of all people made the alliance Draco hoped to make, but by the middle of November – after Potter the Perfect had blown everyone away at the first Quidditch match and all but wiped the pitch with the Slytherin team – that bushy-haired Muggle-born witch who followed Potter around had been openly praised in _every_ subject. Though Snape would never praise a Gryffindor, Draco knew from glancing at her Potions homework several times that she always had a higher mark than him.

Draco was irate, baffled, and downright jealous that this _Muggle-born_ girl could be so experienced with magic.

She must be cheating somehow. Draco knew proudly that the history of Malfoy pure-bloods spanned eight centuries. His father’s investments fueled the most powerful wizarding companies in Britain. Their magic was strong, and their name commanded respect.

He must find a way to beat this mouthy, know-it-all _girl_.

*** *** ***

Hermione was thrilled to be on her way home to see her family for Christmas. She was at the top of every class so far, she had _actual_ _friends_ , and she excitedly imagined her parents beaming at her proudly. They had also promised her another trip to Diagon Alley to shop for books over the holiday; perhaps she could finally figure out the significance of Nicolas Flamel … she certainly owed Harry one for saving her life.

Her compartment door slid open and she was surprised to see Draco Malfoy, a boy she ignored to the best of her ability since he insulted her on their last train ride. Usually he was happy to stay out of her way, except for throwing sneers across classrooms when she answered questions first.

He wasn’t flanked by his bodyguards and she was immediately apprehensive; she’d never been alone with him before. He slid the door closed behind him and stared at her openly.

She broke the silence first. “May I help you?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you do it?”

“Do what, exactly?”

“How are you so good at magic?” he blurted.

Hermione was taken aback. Could it be this boy was nervous like Neville had been? Perhaps he hadn’t been comfortable asking for help with his cronies surrounding him?

She lowered her book and looked at him kindly. “Draco, I’ve noticed you’re very skilled yourself,” she said gently. “Perhaps you need a little more confidence with your magic. I would be happy to work with you–”

“I don’t want some _Muggle-born_ witch tutoring me!” He sneered at her pointedly.

She stared in disbelief. “Then why are you here?” she managed.

“I want to know how you got your magic! My family goes back centuries; we’ve the finest wizards in the country, and you come from _nothing!_ ” He hoped to get a rise of out her but became angrier when nothing happened. She simply looked at him with slight confusion.

“How can you possibly beat me at every test? How d’you hold any information in that thick, bushy head? How can you even use a wand when your family is nothing but _Muggles?”_ he spat the last word like a swear.

Hermione hoped he would correct himself, or perhaps apologize, but she’d heard quite enough. She swiftly withdrew her wand from her pocket and stood to face the blond. “Perhaps, _Malfoy_ , if you spent any of your time actually studying your magic, reading your books, and listening to the professors instead of wasting all your time trying to sound superior to everyone else, you wouldn’t have any trouble doing _this,_ ” she swiftly brought her wand in an arc and whispered a spell, causing Malfoy to leap back from her.

She conjured a blue flame that illuminated the compartment, which she held demurely in a small jar she whipped out of her pocket. He was in awe, against his better judgment, and she took the opportunity to smirk at him over the flame.

 _Nobody smirks at ME!_ “I don’t care how special you think you are, Granger,” he hissed slowly. “You stand there now all confident with your fancy beginner spells, but you come from Muggles and that’s gonna be your downfall. Just you wait, my family _always_ wins. I only wish that stupid troll had hit you with its club. Even if it didn’t damage your big head at least it might’ve flattened that nest of hair.”

Hermione was furious but chose to not take the bait. Instead, she waved her wand gracefully and made her blue flames larger, now spilling from the jar and towering over the skinny Slytherin’s head.

“This isn’t over,” Malfoy spat, before hurriedly leaving the compartment. She vanished her flames and settled back into her seat with her book and her little smile.

Hermione Granger was certainly not afraid of snakes anymore.

*** *** ***


	3. Of Dreams and Dementors

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 3: Of Dreams and Dementors**

During the summer, Lucius Malfoy sat his son down for a very firm discussion about Harry Potter. Draco had already admitted, grumbling, that he tried and failed to become allies. Lucius was not pleased. The Malfoys would only associate with the best, and right now Potter was the best as far as the rest of the wizarding world was concerned.

Draco grumbled to himself that it would be impossible to best Potter and his worshippers since everyone in the school treated them like royalty. Potter and Weasley literally crashed an illegal flying car into Hogwarts and didn’t even get suspended! Admittedly, Draco felt a bit better after Weasley got his rear end handed to him by his Mummy’s Howler.

“If you cannot become Potter’s ally,” Lucius warned his son, “You must become his _equal_. It is important that no one think less of you than of Harry Potter.” Lucius didn’t bat an eye to send seven top-of-the-line broomsticks to the Slytherin Quidditch captain – the son of yet another business associate – to practically guarantee Draco’s desired spot as the new Seeker. Draco held back his concern that he might not play as well as Potter and tried to focus on the fact that he had a better broom.

Broomsticks aside, Potter still had something Draco didn’t, which made his blood boil. Potter had _friends_.

Potter had his loyal followers – like Weasley’s lovestruck little sister and that annoying Creevey kid with the clicking camera – like Draco had Crabbe and Goyle.

But Weasley and Granger … Draco had no friends like that, and he hated Potter more for it. The bespectacled git had everything a Malfoy deserved, and more.

*** *** ***

“… you filthy little Mudblood.”

The slur popped out of Draco’s mouth before he could think. Lucius used it around some of the inferiors he encountered, but Narcissa forbade Draco from using the word at school as it might land him in trouble with the Headmaster.

But if anyone deserved to be called that, it was this stuck-up know-it-all who tried to embarrass him in front of the entire Slytherin team!

After the Gryffindors made themselves scarce, Draco mounted his new broom smugly and took off around the pitch. He had no regrets. Even though Granger hadn’t reacted – she was probably too ignorant to even know what he said – she’d figure it out eventually and she’d know _exactly_ where her place was.

Right beside slug-belching Weasley with the other dirt of the wizarding world.

*** *** ***

Hermione was used to being teased. She knew she was an obsessive bookworm. She knew her hair was impossible, and she knew she became excessively chatty when she was passionate about a subject. She could handle being teased about these things now that she had real friends who liked her despite her flaws.

But Draco Malfoy took it to a whole new level when he insulted her for being _born_. It was bad enough that the wretched boy insulted her openly to the laughter of other Slytherins, but then he began uttering threats that seemed to be supported by someone far more dangerous than him: The Heir of Slytherin. She couldn’t deny that the whispers around the school made her nervous, but she didn’t believe for a moment that the arrogant Draco Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin; surely even _he_ would be smart enough to keep his head down if he were behind it.

Harry and Ron were ready to sentence Malfoy on the spot, and Harry became even more convinced after their first Quidditch match and the Petrification of poor Colin Creevey. Hermione had already agreed to brew a Polyjuice Potion to try and rule Malfoy out – thankfully, it gave her a chance to learn a great new skill even though she doubted his involvement.

When Harry joined them in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom after his bones regrew, he pulled her aside. “Hermione, we need another plan, what if this doesn’t work–?”

“I think the potion will be the best way, Harry–”

“It might not be fast enough! If it _is_ Malfoy, he’s already started attacking students which means you’ll be next! We know he’s got it in for you. What if– if he …” The concern in her friend’s voice made her heart tremble. She still wasn’t accustomed to anyone other than her parents caring for her safety.

“Harry, I promise I’ll be careful. The potion is safe in the bathroom, so it won’t be disturbed, and I promise you we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“You won’t let Malfoy anywhere near you?” he asked worriedly. Hermione knew Harry wasn’t much of a hugger, but he didn’t seem to mind when she threw her arms around his neck gratefully.

“Of course I won’t.”

*** *** ***

“Aw shucks, Granger, I hoped next time I saw you you’d be lying in the hospital wing all frozen.”

Hermione had been leaving the library; she spun round and looked at Malfoy’s sneering face. “Better yet, I’d watch them drag you out of here on a slab.”

Hermione gritted her teeth and tried not to react. Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering behind him and she was overmatched. She still didn’t believe he was behind the attacks, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to best him. She was spared wondering what to do by Harry and Ron catching up with her quickly.

“Oi, Malfoy, don’t you have to go practice your smirk in a mirror?” Ron snarled. He and Harry took a protective stance on either side of Hermione, which Malfoy noticed immediately.

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Malfoy said with a false high voice. “Weasley’s broken wand might poke me in the eye. Or Potter might cut me with the fangs he’s hiding beside that Parsel _tongue_.” Crabbe and Goyle snickered and adopted the same guard-like stance on either side of Draco.

“I wouldn’t talk, Malfoy.” Hermione said. “Especially since that chin of yours is so sharp it could cut parchment.”

Ron snorted in laughter and Harry quickly claimed Hermione’s wrist so he could pull her safely around the corner before the Slytherins had a chance to retort. The Christmas holidays couldn’t come fast enough; they just had to get back at that blond snake.

*** *** ***

Hermione remembered glowing yellow eyes in the other girl’s mirror and then … Nothing.

She needed to get back to them – how would they solve the mystery without her?

She wondered why her arms wouldn’t move. Did she still _have_ arms? The darkness surrounding her was intense … it wasn’t like a dark room, or even a dark forest. It was … Nothing.

How long had it been? A minute … or a day?

She couldn’t count time in Nothing. She didn’t know if it was night or day … she had no sense of balance, direction, or even temperature.

Were her eyes even open? She didn’t feel her eyelids. She didn’t have a body, but she had awareness. _Something_ existed … She existed. Somewhere in this black hole, she was still there.

And she’d never been more terrified.

*** *** ***

Draco was thrilled. Granger had been Petrified! He wished Weasley was a Mudblood so he’d get out of the way too; Draco reckoned Potter might change his mind about allying with the Malfoys if he didn’t have his bloody friends hanging off his arm all the time. _Or at least Potter could be knocked down a few steps._

The Slytherins still expected a Mudblood to be killed and they constantly debated who would be next. Only Theodore Nott studied quietly in the common room, ignoring the chatter around him.

Draco had a lively conversation with his roommate Blaise Zabini about how nice it was having classes without Granger’s big mouth, and Draco got excellent news in his father’s next letter: Lucius Malfoy used his connections to ensure that Muggle-loving Dumbledore was going to be removed from the school.

After the news spread to the rest of the Slytherins, Draco was being treated with more respect than ever. Meanwhile, everyone was ready to finger _Potter_ as the Heir of Slytherin!

Things were finally going his way.

*** *** ***

_Perhaps this is death,_ Hermione thought to herself. Death would feel like Nothing.

She never believed in Heaven, exactly. But this place – if it were even a place – could it be Hell? Maybe Hell wasn’t a fiery inferno. Maybe it was just … empty. Maybe Hell was being completely alone and scared in endless darkness. Not being able to move, or scream, or even count.

Maybe Hell was endless waiting … for something.

Something that was desperately trying to find her.

*** *** ***

Draco kicked the wall in fury.

His father had been sacked as a school governor and lost his power over the school, Dumbledore was back, the Mudbloods were waking up, and the entire Malfoy family status was now in question since Potter accused Lucius of bewitching the Weasley brat somehow. Lucius worked all year to overturn Arthur Weasley’s scandalous Muggle Protection Act, which would now be impossible.

There were plenty of students who viewed Draco with suspicion after Granger was attacked, but everyone had been too afraid to approach him because of the respect he commanded.

Nobody was afraid of him anymore.

*** *** ***

When Hermione came running into the Great Hall, Harry forgot that he wasn’t normally a hugger and pulled her happily into his arms. She praised him and Ron up and down for figuring everything out, and they kept insisting they couldn’t’ve done it without her.

The only thing making her happier than her reunion with her friends was the look on Draco Malfoy’s face when he realized she was still alive.

*** *** ***

The Grangers had always been proud of their daughter, but a letter from her Hogwarts professors that came over the summer made them nearly keel over with pride.

She was called the “brightest witch of her age” and a “model student,” and because she was so anxious to study as many subjects as possible, her professors needed permission to bend a very strict rule only for her: She would be allowed to alter the very fabric of time itself.

*** *** ***

Along with the rest of the compartment, Hermione gasped at the sight of the hooded figure. Before she could even draw her wand, her chest suddenly seemed to fill with sheer ice.

She desperately searched her mental catalogue for a spell, a charm … _anything_ that might help, but she felt numbed from the inside out. She stumbled backwards into a seat and struggled to stay conscious as her mind filled with blackness …

_She was trapped in the endless expanse of Nothing. She tried to cry for help, to reach any of the ones who could save her … Darkness was tearing her to pieces, ripping her soul into shreds … she was lost, alone …_

The lights flickered on and Hermione jumped back into reality; she immediately noticed Harry lying stiffly on the ground and she all but flew down to him as Ron started shaking Harry’s arm, and then slapping his face.

“Harry! Harry! Are you all right?”

*** *** ***

Draco teased Potter endlessly about fainting, but he would never admit the Dementors nearly made him faint too. He still felt as though his insides were made of ice, and he wrapped himself in his woolen winter cloak before crawling into bed. He glanced at the next bed where Theodore Nott lay utterly still, staring at the ceiling. Draco narrowed his eyes; Theo normally fell asleep quickly unless he had nightmares.

“What did you feel?” the other boy whispered. Theo must’ve felt Draco’s eyes on him.

Draco knew they were alone, so he murmured back, “Cold. And I remembered my nightmares …”

Theo swallowed. “Me too. The worst ones.”

“About him?”

“And about her. When she …” he trailed off and turned his head away. Draco knew Theo wouldn’t say anything else. He pulled the covers around himself tightly and tried to sleep.

*** *** ***

Despite no longer being on the board of governors, Lucius Malfoy heard through other connections that Dumbledore was hiring the enormous oaf of a groundskeeper to be a professor for one of Draco’s classes.

Lucius was furious and sent his son to school with strict instruction to do something about it. He could cause an accident somehow, make it look like the oaf’s fault, and Lucius would swoop in with his immaculate team of solicitors to ensure the fool was sacked. The teaching of young wizards was a sacred role, not one to be had by a half-human Hogwarts expellee.

As he lay in the hospital wing, Draco knew he’d gone too far. The weight of the Hippogriff fractured his ulna and he lost a lot of blood from the massive gash. The pain was the worst thing he ever felt, and the sudden unwanted slough of affection from Pansy Parkinson wasn’t helping.

He tolerated the girl because she came from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family. She deserved due respect as an equal. But she was frustratingly clingy, and Draco wished she’d stop trying to hint that she wanted him to ask her out. He worried he’d eventually give in to get her off his back. Or right now, off his arm.

*** *** ***

Ron was getting suspicious, and Hermione was running out of excuses to give him for how she attended all her classes. She made a mental note to avoid him for a little while so he wouldn’t start paying attention and catching her in two places at once; she took her oath to Professor McGonagall very seriously.

Their latest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher led them to the staff room, and Hermione was thrilled at the idea of getting hands-on experience, but her heart dropped like a stone when she realized they were about to face a Boggart.

She didn’t know her worst fear exactly … would the Boggart turn into a snake? What if it turned into her friends telling her she was worthless, and they didn’t want her around anymore? What if it turned into Professor McGonagall saying she’d failed and would need to surrender the Time-Turner? Or leave the magical world completely?

Though she pretended otherwise, Hermione was relieved that she didn’t have to find out that day.

*** *** ***

Hermione was already exhausted barely two months into classes. She did hours over again to keep up, she was vigilant to never be seen, and she always made it to class on time, but the sheer volume of homework she managed was becoming too much.

Meanwhile, Hagrid was struggling with his lessons, Ron was mad at her about Crookshanks, and Harry was frustrated with the Dementors and losing Quidditch … she wanted badly to help all her friends, but lately she was having trouble just staying awake.

After the Hogsmeade trip when Harry learned the truth about Sirius Black, Hermione was even more desperately concerned for her friend. She believed she acted for the best when she suggested his Firebolt be checked for jinxes, but Harry didn’t want to see past it to her good intentions. Frustrated and hurt, she started limiting her time in the common room and determinedly stuck to the library like it was her new home, trying not to think too hard about how her only friends were slipping away.

Unfortunately, when Draco Malfoy returned from Christmas break, he noticed her seclusion immediately. He started to make a habit of going into the library to look at books he didn’t need just so he could smirk in her direction and make a sneering comment at her.

It was increasingly difficult to ignore the bully when he voiced everything that she was afraid to admit to herself. _Useless, lonely, friendless little Mudblood._

Hermione almost considered breaking the rules and using the Time-Turner for more than classes. Some days she wanted to go back and get an extra hour or two of sleep. Once she considered going back to re-do an hour that she wasted researching in the wrong section of the library.

But today she wanted to go back in time to two minutes before Malfoy entered the library; she’d borrow Harry’s Cloak and hit the snarky little git with a Leg-Locker Jinx so she could watch him fall down the stairs.

*** *** ***

Draco was furious. He’d been angry plenty of times, but this was _unacceptable_.

He’d had the best idea to finally get back at Potter by dressing up as Dementors. He had a perfectly set plan to slip away immediately when everyone was distracted by Potter’s inevitable fall from his broom. Dumbledore would be angry at their creepy guards, Potter would lose the match, and nobody would be any the wiser. All the better if the horrid figures could be sent away from the school; it was difficult to visit Hogsmeade and pretend he wasn’t afraid of them.

But Potter didn’t fall! He conjured some bizarre mist with his wand and destroyed the whole plan. And of course, it wasn’t enough that Draco suffered humiliation in front of the whole school – or that Goyle stumbling made Draco fall from his shoulders and hit his head hard enough on the cold ground to get a concussion – but McGonagall’s detention had him spending the last four hours scrubbing all the desks on the second floor! He didn’t think he’d ever seen so many blisters on his hands. It was _insulting._ Malfoys did not scrub like house-elves. He buried his sore hands in his pockets and stomped angrily down the corridor.

The others would serve different detentions, so he was on his own. He dreaded his return to the Slytherin common room where Crabbe and Goyle would expect him to have a new plan for besting Potter, or Marcus Flint would blame him yet again for convincing him to get involved with the fake-Dementor stunt, or Theo would look at him disappointedly from behind the biggest book in the school …

Thinking about Theo made Draco want to go hide in the library for a while and he promptly changed direction. Crabbe and Goyle never entered the room; he’d be sure to find a quiet corner to sulk in.

But the corner he chose happened to be occupied by a frizzy-haired Mudblood. The corners of his mouth quirked up. _Well. Can’t let this opportunity go by._

He took two lazy steps in her direction and waited. She would look up at him and then pretend to ignore him, or she would make some comment about how strange it was to be seeing _him_ in the library, and then he’d hit her back with a snide response and saunter away proudly, self-repaired ego in check.

But she didn’t look up. He took another step in her direction and waited. Nothing.

Frustrated now, he leaned down with the intention of pulling the book out from under her nose and he froze. She wasn’t even _looking_ at the book. She was staring at her lap, quietly sobbing.

Snide comments disappeared from his mind. How could he insult someone who was already upset? Tell her she didn’t look good crying? Nobody did …

As he struggled with the situation, she finally glanced up and looked at him properly. He didn’t realize she had brown eyes. Right now, they were reflecting the lamps and sparkling with tears. “What, Malfoy?”

He squinted at her, confused. She was so quiet. Normally she would snap at him. “You’re–”

“A daft Mudblood? A worthless witch? Ugly, with big, bushy hair? Lonely with no friends except books? Yes, you’ve covered all that, thank you very much Malfoy. Just go away.” She sounded utterly detached, as if he were an insect that she was aimlessly shooing.

Draco narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t walk away; he didn’t take orders from her! He wanted her attention. He reached over to steal the book from her and evoke a proper reaction.

He didn’t expect her to rise to her feet, slam her hands on the table over the book, and face him with fire in her eyes. “GO AWAY!”

An unexpected shiver rolled up his spine. It was absolutely unfair that a Mudblood witch with brown hair could bear any resemblance to his father.

*** *** ***

Hermione sat in the back of the library and tried to read, but her determination to hold her tears back became weaker by the moment, and she could no longer see any words on the page.

She ignored the book and stared at her hands, Ron’s hateful words echoing in her mind. _“Haven’t you done enough damage this year?!”_

Not since Halloween, first year, had she wanted to wave goodbye to magic forever and run back home. She’d even prefer to be Petrified again right now, but she wondered if they’d even miss her. She’d barely been in the Gryffindor common room for weeks and they didn’t seem to care.

She sensed, rather than heard, footsteps growing closer. With no empathy remaining for anyone – except perhaps kindly Hagrid, to whom these feet certainly didn’t belong – Hermione ignored them.

All the better that it was Malfoy; she idly brushed him off.

But when his pale hand reached for her book, every bottled emotion, worry, and lingering fear came suddenly spilling from her as she stood in fury and screamed at him to _GO AWAY_.

She was a little irritated with herself for yelling like an angry six-year-old, but the shocked look on the blond’s face was surprisingly rewarding. Hermione presumed the self-appointed prince of Slytherin wasn’t spoken to like this very often, and suddenly she felt a tiny bit better.

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” Malfoy drawled, clearly trying to hide his discomfort. “Not even your precious books a distraction from your pathetic life anymore?”

She bunched her hand into a fist and suddenly wondered what it would be like to punch him. She never loathed anyone as much as this entitled _brat_ who hated her for no decent reason.

Unfortunately, he noticed her curled hand and it made him smirk broadly. “Ooh, you’re gonna duel me Muggle-style? I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, you’re not a real witch are you, _Mudblood?_ ”

He sneered and turned away, feeling much better about himself.

*** *** ***

This was the last straw.

He insulted her on a weekly basis, he dressed like a Dementor to try and sabotage Harry’s Quidditch game, and he teased all the Weasleys regularly because they had bigger hearts than bank vaults. Now he was cruelly insulting Hagrid, the only friend who stuck with her through this horrible year!

_I’ll show you who’s a real witch, Malfoy!_

She slapped him around the face with all the strength she could muster. She was pleased when he staggered, but she wasn’t done. She shook off Ron’s interfering hand and pulled out her wand, prepared to curse that sneering blond with a face full of pimples.

Of course, he ran away, like the coward he was. Hermione angrily shoved her wand back in her pocket and followed Harry and Ron into the castle. _At least they’re acting like my friends again._

*** *** ***

She was furious with herself for getting distracted by the horrible Slytherin, falling asleep and missing Charms; she ran to talk to Professor Flitwick and was now racing towards Divination. Just as she made to turn the next corner, she froze.

Malfoy leaned against the opposite wall, alone in the corridor. He was shaking. She was just close enough to see that his cheek still bore a red mark from her slap. What she found astonishing, however, was that his eyes were not filled with fury, as she expected.

They were filled with _pain_.

Hermione was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. She knew more than enough about Lucius Malfoy; the horrible man had just effectively sentenced Buckbeak to death. She didn’t put it past him to hit his own son; what if Draco was mistreated at home and then she went and slapped him at school?

She promptly turned the corner, fully prepared to apologize. Bully or not, he didn’t deserve that.

She never got a chance to speak. The instant he saw her, he furiously grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her backwards against the wall. His grip was tight enough to make her gasp. _When did he get so tall?_

“Don’t you _ever_ put those filthy hands on me,” He hissed as closely to her ear as possible, and she was stunned into silence.

Draco dropped his hands and hoped the horrible girl would have bruises tomorrow. He wished his mother hadn’t taught him that he mustn’t hit a witch under any circumstances. He stomped away furiously and turned the corner before she could open her big, annoying mouth again.

_I hate that Mudblood._

*** *** ***


	4. Of Dates and Drama

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 4: Of Dates and Drama**

Excited as he was to see the World Cup, Draco was not pleased that the bloody Weasleys were in front of him and he’d have to look at the back of their bright orange heads for the whole match. He fought a stab of jealousy that Granger and Potter were there; Draco was seated between his parents and couldn’t jump up and down or scream with glee like the Gryffindors. Such childish behaviour would be unacceptable in front of the Minister for Magic.

Draco sneered at Granger’s bushy head when she noticed him and was delighted when Potter’s eyes narrowed at him threateningly. It was too easy to get a rise out of those morons. He wouldn’t take any action in front of his parents – in fact, his wand was tucked away in Lucius’ pocket – but _they_ didn’t know that.

His proper behaviour during the game paid off; Draco was permitted to join Vince and Greg to celebrate and camp out for the night. The trio had a memorable evening eating sweets and discussing the match.

Draco looked forward to sleeping in. He did not expect a riot to start in the middle of the night.

He didn’t know for sure if his father was involved – there was little that happened in the wizarding world that Lucius didn’t know about thanks to his close relationship with high-ranking Ministry members – but Draco knew better than to get in the way. He slipped out of Vince’s tent, leaving him and Greg snoring blissfully. Nothing woke those two.

Draco hid in the woods and watched between a gap in the trees, ideally placed to either join the crowd if his father called him out or run deeper to protect himself if necessary. Even though the hooded crowd was only targeting Muggles, they were also blowing tents to bits and setting fires. Draco didn’t put it past them to start burning down the forest next.

He remembered the first time he’d seen those hoods and masks … he was eight years old and learned a spectacular new trick on his broom – a barrel-roll – and was dying to show it to his father. Without taking into account that his father’s study door was closed – which meant he was _never_ to be disturbed – Draco burst into the room excited, flushed, and clutching his broom, only to encounter four tall men dressed in long black robes, hoods, and the masks he could now make out through the trees if he squinted.

Young Draco dropped his broom and froze in utter shock and shame. But for the fact that Lucius stood behind his desk, Draco couldn’t have picked out his father from this uniform group. All four turned to look at him simultaneously with only their eyes visible – and all eyes spat fire at him in anger for disrupting them. All thoughts of excuses or apologies vanished as Draco abandoned his broom and ran for it. Lightning scared him and small, dark spaces scared him, but nothing scared him like his father when Draco had misbehaved.

Later when Lucius entered his room, Draco was curled up in a tiny, shaking pale ball. Lucius still wore his robes and hood, though the mask was gone. To his son’s great surprise, there was no punishment. Lucius merely sat on the bed next to him and said it was time for Draco to learn the significance of the uniforms.

“Once, we were privileged to follow the greatest wizard of our time,” Lucius began in a calm voice. “We wore these uniforms to represent our dedication to his cause, and more than that, we gave him pieces of our very skin.” Draco stared as his father rolled up his long sleeve – Lucius _never_ wore short sleeves – and showed him the pale grey Mark like a shadowy tattoo decorating his forearm.

“One day,” Lucius continued. “Another may rise and become an example of all that we fought for. One day, we hope for these symbols to have meaning again. But for now, my son, we follow the old ways and we uphold our traditions. We are Malfoys, Draco, and we only associate with the very best.”

When the riots ended for some inexplicable reason, Draco headed back to Vince’s tent; his huge friends were still snoring away with no inkling that anything happened.

*** *** ***

When Draco arrived home the day after the World Cup, Lucius called him to his study. Draco was rarely brought into the study these days unless there was an important lesson to be learned or a punishment to be awarded – he hoped it was the former.

Lucius shut the door and directed Draco into a tall seat facing the desk. Lucius was in his best robes, and his demeanor was familiar; he looked at his son like a business associate of equal status. Draco sat up very straight, immediately adopting the perfect position to command equal respect. He was glad his last growth spurt made him almost as tall as his father, finally.

“What do you know about the Dark Lord, Draco?” Lucius began, tenting his fingers and surveying his son. Draco knew his father’s style. This was no simple question: this was a test, and he must formulate his sentences carefully.

“I recall what you told me, Father, that the Dark Lord was a powerful wizard who gained public fear as he breached the edges of what wizards like Dumbledore consider to be _normal._ Families like ours chose to follow his example and leadership, while less worthy wizards cowered in fear beneath him.”

“And, what of his demise?”

“The Dark Lord was gaining power and taking revenge against those who opposed him, including the Potters, because they stood loyally with Dumbledore. He, er– wiped them away and meant to wipe out Harry Potter as well, but for some reason he survived, and the Dark Lord was … er …”

“He disappeared.” Lucius supplied.

“Yes.”

“Nobody knows how Harry Potter survived,” Lucius said carefully. “Some of us believed he was destined to defeat the Dark Lord and become his successor, which is why I encouraged you to either befriend him or, at the very least, remain his equal.” Draco’s cheeks immediately turned pink, since he knew how badly he’d failed at that task. “We never knew if the Dark Lord died or simply vanished. What would you suppose, Draco, if the Dark Lord were to somehow return to full power?”

Draco looked up sharply, unable to hide both the shock and fear on his face. “Father?”

Lucius stood and began pacing. “Last night, the Dark Lord’s unique signature made an appearance. You know those of us who were loyal to his cause carry the same signature,” Lucius drew up his sleeve. Draco nodded, noting in surprise that the pale grey mark had darkened and was much more prominent on his father’s arm than when Draco had seen it as a child.

“This was a badge of honour when the Dark Lord was in power,” Lucius said bitterly. “Now, narrow-minded fools like Dumbledore who embrace Muggle-borns into Hogwarts and pass laws like Arthur Weasley’s Muggle Protection Act believe that we are _tainted_ because of this Mark.” Lucius spat in anger as he spoke. Draco remained very still, aware that the anger was not directed at him, but not wanting to make it so.

“This Mark,” Lucius continued, “is beginning to grow clearer. Some say that the Dark Lord did not die, but that his power was broken, and he now has the means to return. Or perhaps there is another, ready to take the place of the Dark Lord. If this should come to pass …”

Draco gulped.

“… will you stand with me at his side?”

Draco felt his heart leap. _Equals?_

“It would be my honour, Father.”

The smile Lucius presented to his son was perhaps the most genuine Draco had ever seen, but it was not the smile of a man to his son; it was the smile of a man to another man. Draco felt his chest swell with pride.

He was no longer a child; he earned his father’s respect.

*** *** ***

Last year when they faced Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack – before knowing he was their ally – Ron had attempted several times to stand or jump in front of Hermione despite his broken leg. She’d brushed this off as Gryffindor chivalry, but then Ron’s actions unexpectedly repeated themselves after the World Cup.

They were moving through the forest trying to remain hidden, and Malfoy of all people reminded them that she could be in more danger than the others if any of the attackers discovered she was Muggle-born. Hermione hardly worried for her own safety – she’d been studying defensive spells ever since they met Sirius and Pettigrew, and she wasn’t about to start yelling at the top of her lungs about her parentage. She was much more concerned with finding Ginny in the woods after the younger witch disappeared with the twins.

Ron, however, took Malfoy’s words to heart, which surprised her. Though she knew Harry would be just as likely to defend her if she were attacked, Ron’s body language was a little more pronounced. She noticed he carefully placed himself between her and any strange noise they heard as they moved through the forest, and more than once he reached out towards her subconsciously as though wanting to hold her arm or put his hand on her back to guide her.

Despite her firm confidence that she was no damsel in distress who needed protection, Hermione couldn’t deny, blushingly, that she was flattered. Despite Ron’s tendencies to tease her far more often than Harry, she couldn’t forget Ron saving her from the troll or steering her clear of Malfoy when they thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. Perhaps he personified the aspect of Gryffindor chivalry more than Harry, or was there something else?

*** *** ***

Blaise Zabini was the only Slytherin boy in his year that Draco hadn’t met before starting Hogwarts. His father died when he was little, and his Italian mother spent much of her time travelling Europe with her husbands – Draco heard she was on number six or seven – dragging Blaise along behind her. Blaise admitted in first year he was quite happy to be at Hogwarts where things were more consistent, and he didn’t have to try and remember what city he currently lived in or which man his mother was currently involved with.

Although he didn’t have the status that came with being a Malfoy, Blaise also hailed from an old pure-blood family and was appropriately proud. But though Draco would never admit it, he secretly envied the other boy. They were both handsome and talented pure-bloods, but Blaise had no social expectations. He frequently flirted with girls from other houses, even Gryffindor, and he might only receive strange looks from the other Slytherins. Draco could hardly imagine the hell that would ensue if _he_ tried to date a Gryffindor … when an opportunity arose to put a Muggle-born in their place or otherwise promote pure-blood superiority, their peers expected Draco to step up and say the right thing. Blaise could shrug and walk on by, and nobody would think he was losing his mind or report to his father that he was _undermining the old ways_.

Draco entered the common room after dinner one October evening, having irritably abandoned Crabbe and Goyle with their sixth plates of pudding. Blaise was paging through his Potions textbook, and the seat next to him was empty. Draco didn’t feel like sitting through Pansy Parkinson’s inane chatter, so he ignored the seat near her and opted for the one by Blaise, who gave him a nod as he sat.

They read their books for a while until, to Draco’s surprise, Blaise initiated a conversation. “You hear Warrington’s gonna put his name in for the Tournament?” Draco was bemused and shook his head.

“I don’t think that would end well,” he drawled in response. “Pretty sure Warrington could only win the Tournament if the tasks involved naked witches.” Blaise sniggered. “Anybody else entering?”

“Diggory from Hufflepuff, but nobody else that I’ve heard. Wouldn’t try it, myself.”

Draco nodded. “No way I’d be that thick. Even if I were older, I wouldn’t put my arse on the line for a lousy bag of money.”

Blaise laughed. “Not everyone has that luxury, mate. I reckon that’s why the Weasley twins are so desperate to find a way in.” Draco snorted.

“They just want the fame, I bet. Those nutters love to be the center of attention.”

“Wonder if they’ve got half a brain between them? You’d need a pretty big one to make it through this thing, I reckon.”

Draco’s mind inadvertently turned towards the “biggest” brain at Hogwarts. “Good thing Granger isn’t old enough, I guess.”

Blaise nodded with a smirk, but admitted, “I’d never go up against her. She’s kind of frightening, to be honest.” Draco snorted in response. “You don’t think so?”

“She’s a weak little girl who hangs around two boys that guard her all day.” Draco retorted. He was very deliberately not thinking of last year’s slap.

Blaise shook his head. “Have you seen her around them? I reckon she guards _them_. She casts spells faster than most sixth years, and any time someone takes a shot at Weasley she’s right in there defending him just as much as Potter.”

“She’s probably got a thing for Weasley,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “Blood traitor like him deserves a Mudblood like her.”

Blaise seemed unsure about how to answer; he simply shrugged his shoulders. Draco paused. He was so used to everyone around him immediately sniggering – or in Pansy’s case, bursting into ridiculous laughter – when he made Mudblood or blood-traitor comments. Blaise’s indifference was a surprising breath of fresh air.

Crabbe and Goyle were Draco’s closest friends, but they copied off his homework, ate the sweets he liked, and always expected _him_ to have the appropriate response to a situation without offering much contribution. He had something of a friendship with Theo Nott, but Nott was mostly disinterested in people, preferring the company of books.

Blaise was certainly brighter than Crabbe and Goyle, and Draco hadn’t noticed until now that conversing with him was easy. He didn’t seem to have the other boys’ expectations of Draco. “Finishing Snape’s essay?” Draco pressed, not wanting the conversation to end.

“I was doing alright, but I forgot the purpose of tortoise eggshells, and I’ve absolutely no idea how to counteract the effects of poisonous rainworm in a Quenching Solution.”

“No problem,” Draco drawled. “I’ll help you with the essay if you can tell me how you get such good grades in Astronomy.”

Blaise grinned. “Deal.”

*** *** ***

Hermione was pleased with herself. She took Malfoy’s untimely curse to her advantage and fixed her teeth, something she’d hoped to do since she learned magic was real. Potential disapproval from her parents was a small price to pay for the self-confidence it gave her.

It seemed that this unexpected ego-boost came at a rather perfect time, since Harry’s unwanted press was now dragging her in as well. Despite the lies being spread about Harry – and the lie that she and Harry were dating – she didn’t let on how nice it felt that she was described in print as top of the year, along with “stunningly pretty.”

She’d never been described as pretty, and Hermione wondered if her fixed teeth had anything to do with it. Though she publicly claimed the article was Hippogriff dung, she secretly felt good about herself for having been acknowledged for something besides her brain. The fact that her two best friends were boys that never tried to date her hadn’t slipped her notice; she’d always taken it as proof that she wasn’t _pretty_.

Now the backlash of jealousy she received from the other girls – particularly the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson – seemed to prove to some extent that she must be nice-looking. Fixing her teeth might have been the catalyst Hermione needed to plan her appearance for the very first time; namely, when she was asked to the Yule Ball.

Much to her surprise, several wizards who knew Hermione wasn’t really dating Harry suddenly lined up to ask her out. She politely turned down Ernie MacMillan and Terry Boot, but when Viktor Krum asked her very shyly to accompany him, she couldn’t say no. The quiet boy – _man_ , really – wasn’t exactly her type, but neither was he the person she expected. Though a world-renowned Quidditch player and Triwizard champion, Viktor didn’t seem to care for the fame thrust upon him, and he was quite intelligent under his Quidditch skills and bashful exterior. He also proved to be kind and gentlemanly, and Hermione was flattered to find that he took an interest in her before the _Daily Prophet_ made her infamous.

However, Hermione was truly disappointed when Neville asked her to the Ball after she’d agreed to accompany Viktor. Despite Neville’s somewhat bumbling demeanor he was a true sweetheart and had always been a good friend. She briefly imagined taking Neville home to meet her parents one day and the idea filled her with pleasant thoughts. She turned him down as gently as possible and reassured him that she only said no because she’d already promised someone else. When he bravely asked Ginny, Hermione was pleased.

Then there was _Ron_.

Hermione didn’t think Harry or Ron would ask her to the Ball; they were friends and she expected neither of them wished to make things awkward. Things would’ve been fine if Ron simply avoided her, but she was more frustrated with the petty redhead now than when he’d ignored Harry for a month. If he liked her, why couldn’t he have admitted it like a Gryffindor?

At least Viktor had been a perfect gentleman during the Ball, and she had a lovely time with him. Too bad Ron Weasley wasn’t ready to grow up.

*** *** ***

Draco collapsed into bed with an exhausted groan when the Yule Ball finally ended. His velvet dress robes had been far too hot, and Pansy’s grip was too tight for him to fight off. She forced him into dance after dance until he thought he might keel over.

His baby-pink-clad date had kissed him goodnight – Draco scrunched his nose at the memory. He had no kissing experience yet, but he was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to be so … wet. Her lips had clamped on his like she was trying to tear them off. Reflexively, he stretched his jaw and tried to think about something else.

Unfortunately, the bloody belle of the ball popped into his head again. What Seer in their right mind could predict that _Granger_ would pull off evening wear so perfectly? The girl didn’t wear makeup and it never looked like she even brushed that nest of hair, then suddenly she was turning heads. Aside from the bosomy Beauxbatons witches, Granger had been the most gawked-at girl of the evening.

It made Draco furious. He had _nothing_ to hold over her! She got rid of her huge teeth and bushy hair, she proved that she could enjoy herself without a stack of books, and her Mudblood status didn’t even matter since she showed up on the arm of a world-famous Seeker! She walked past Draco several times over the course of the night, and each time he was unable to come up with anything to say, so she simply treated him like a shadow. Unfortunately, Crabbe and Goyle noticed this and kept sending him confused looks.

Malfoys were supposed to have the best of everything. Draco got stuck with the pug-nosed girl in robes the colour of pajamas because she threw herself at him the moment she first heard of the Ball. He _had_ to say yes because her family would tell Lucius if he said no; it would’ve been a grave insult to her family.

It wasn’t fair; Draco should’ve had the most beautiful girl in the room on _his_ arm.

He rolled over, trying to sleep. It didn’t matter what she looked like; Granger was a Mudblood and she’d never be good enough for him … and yet as he tried to convince himself of this, he remembered being a Transfigured ferret having five of his ribs cracked by Moody.

The only person in the crowd who didn’t laugh at him was Granger.

*** *** ***

The day after the Ball, Hermione pulled Harry away to talk to him alone since she was still frustrated with Ron. Harry didn’t seem surprised at her lecture about the second task, nor her insistence that she was worried for him and offering to do anything she could to help.

Then Harry questioned her carefully about Viktor Krum; she hadn’t expected that … and she was surprised when Harry’s face glowed with a deep blush after she admitted all the work she’d done on her appearance for the Ball.

“Oh … I suppose you weren’t used to seeing me like that–” she said shyly with a blush of her own.

“No …” Harry muttered. “I didn’t know how to tell you that you, er …” she couldn’t hear the next mumbled words. He glanced up at her confused face, coughed, and repeated, “You looked … beautiful.” Hermione’s blush grew darker and she studied her twisting fingers in her lap.

“You looked quite handsome yourself,” she admitted shyly.

The awkward silence began eating Hermione from the inside out, and she wondered how to proceed when Harry blurted, “Are you annoyed with me? That I didn’t … I mean I could’ve asked you …”

“Oh, Harry, no. I was angry at Ron because he made such a fuss about it, and he certainly lacked manners and discretion … I never expected you to ask me, Harry, really. I think it might’ve been strange, you know, since … well, since you’re like my brother, I suppose.”

Harry’s silence told her nothing useful; she wasn’t sure if he was shocked or silently trying to figure out how to tell her he didn’t see her that way. She bravely glanced over at him.

Harry wore a slightly crooked smile and she carefully smiled back. “Yeah …” he said, now grinning. “I think that’s about right.”

*** *** ***

Hermione was thoroughly relieved that she and Harry successfully established the parameters of their relationship, as the _Witch Weekly_ article published after the second task might’ve otherwise led to a rather awkward conversation. Hermione was frustrated at the public assumption that she was dating Harry simply because they spent so much time together.

 _If I were a boy this wouldn’t be an issue_ , she thought irritably.

Unfortunately, the article caused a bit of trouble with Viktor. Hermione was pleased to spend a nice evening with a true gentleman, but she wasn’t hopeful for long-term prospects. Though polite and endearing in his way, Hermione knew Viktor wasn’t the person she wanted to devote her time to.

Hermione frustratingly harbored a small crush on Ron, which had lingered since the World Cup. Of course, Ron had to go and make a fool of himself at the Yule Ball and then spin ridiculous yarns about bravely fighting merpeople during the second task. Hermione crossly decided to leave him be. Viktor had so politely requested her company … he _did_ save her from the lake after all, and even if they weren’t destined to be together, why should that stop her from spending time with him?

*** *** ***

By her third “date” with Viktor – which mostly consisted of walking slowly around the lake together – Hermione was finally comfortable enough with him that she stopped blushing every time he paid her a compliment. As much as she loved Harry – and Ron, sometimes – it was nice to spend time with a boy who noticed her as a _girl_ for a change.

The day before the third task, she wished Viktor good luck and bravely kissed him on the cheek.

*** *** ***

It was the day after the third task, which had resulted in one of the worst nights they could remember. Hermione and Ron spent most of the day with Harry in the hospital wing but left quietly when Cedric’s parents came in. Ron was sidetracked by his brothers near Gryffindor Tower and Hermione gratefully slipped away to be alone.

Expecting to be found if she took refuge in the library, she simply located a quiet alcove and leaned against the wall for a little while, allowing herself to shed some tears. She’d held them back until now for Harry’s sake; she wanted to be strong for him because he’d used up so much of his own strength.

She wished yet again that Ron could grow up a little. He’d be a supportive friend for Harry, no doubt, but Ron was less skilled at taking on the burdens of others.

Hermione often felt she was the adult in their little group of friends. Ron was naïve and unfocused, and Harry had now been through so much that she wouldn’t wish for him to grow up any more than he already had. The pressure she felt at being the one to have all the answers and provide her unconditional support was weighing on her. She liked that they relied on her – it was certainly preferable to the days when she had no friends at all – but it wasn’t always easy. It was difficult enough maintaining a steady relationship with the pair when they weren’t talking to each other. Now Harry had literally stared death in the face; Ron was clueless, and Hermione was terrified.

She’d been so grateful that Harry could rely on Sirius for some much-needed adult support this year and, of course, Ron had older brothers to turn to. Hermione had no such source in her personal life – an adult in the magical world of whom she could ask advice.

But perhaps …

Viktor was only a few years older than she, but he was brave, strong, talented, and sweet. As though the image of his face in her mind flicked a switch, Hermione promptly dried her eyes and made straight for the grounds.

*** *** ***

Finally, the year came to its end.

Hermione was so relieved that Harry was alright. She was pleased as punch that she caught that horrid Rita Skeeter. She was in a happy, blissful haze about having her first kiss or three …

But the highlight of the year might’ve been the train ride home, when she finally had cause to hit Draco Malfoy with the Pimpling Hex she’d been saving just for him.

*** *** ***


	5. Of Regrets and Responsibilities

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 5: Of Regrets and Responsibilities**

After Blaise Zabini helped Draco with a few tricky spells to make the Support Cedric Diggory/Potter Stinks badges, the two had become good friends and Blaise was now Draco’s favourite homework partner. Even after year’s end, the duo spent most of the summer writing letters.

Draco wasn’t completely used to having a friend like Blaise who would challenge him sometimes, start debates, or outright disagree with him. Draco had become so accustomed to Crabbe and Goyle simply agreeing with everything he said that he didn’t realize it was getting dull. Having Blaise around was far more interesting.

For the first time Draco had the chance to speak to a wizard who _knew_ Muggles – two of Blaise’s stepfathers had been Muggles and another was Muggle-born. Though Blaise’s birth father had been just as strict about the “old ways” as Lucius Malfoy, he died so young that Blaise grew up with only his mother’s influence – which was very much oriented around marrying men who were handsome and rich, regardless of blood status.

When they first began talking, Draco teased Blaise about having been stepson to a _Muggle_ , his implication suggesting he may as well be stepson to a border collie. Blaise went quiet to think, trying Draco’s patience, but his friend would always come up with a logical retort. Muggles were lesser, of course, because they had no magic. Everyone knew that. But Blaise would argue that Muggles were clever in their own ways. Because Blaise had only known the elite side of the Muggle world, he believed that Muggles with money could be almost as powerful as wizards. He’d seen how his fourth stepfather’s influence over his inferiors and his staff ensured that his every demand was met, and it was much like magic. The man couldn’t use Floo powder, but he could arrange to have his private jet take him anywhere on the continent, and Blaise described the experience as much more pleasant than bouncing around fireplaces anyway.

Though Draco often teased him about it, his friend had also been using regimental Muggle exercise for years, which built up his muscles and endurance. Blaise was stronger than Crabbe or Goyle but never threatened to beat Draco up – even though he could pick him up and carry him across the room just to annoy him. The two often snuck out of the castle to the Quidditch pitch where Draco would practice chasing Snitches – he _had_ to beat Potter one day – and Blaise would simply run laps around the length of the pitch or do something called _push-ups_ until he collapsed from exhaustion. By the end of last year, Blaise was nearly as fast on his feet as Draco on his broom.

Blaise would still snigger publicly at Draco’s comments about blood purity – he had to be a good Slytherin, after all – but he firmly maintained that sometimes the Muggle way was useful.

*** *** ***

Hermione felt broken.

They silently rebelled against Umbridge in every way possible but thanks to one cowardly Ravenclaw, the DA was exposed. Now Umbridge was worse than ever, and it was all Hermione’s fault. Harry blamed himself to no end, but it was _her_ idea which led to the creation of the group. It was _her_ that ultimately forced Dumbledore into hiding.

Nobody blamed her – except Marietta and Cho, about whom Hermione couldn’t care less – but she blamed herself fiercely. She tried to bury herself in her studies to no avail. She’d even offered to help Harry rebuild his relationship with Cho in the hopes it might make him feel better, but he insisted there was no use.

Hermione was fully aware that Harry’s Occlumency attempts had failed, but Harry didn’t seem to grasp how scared she was for him. She kept trying to press him to go back – if for no other reason than it was what Dumbledore wanted – but Harry was more closed off now than ever, thanks to Umbridge. Of all the horrible things that woman had done, she’d broken Harry’s very spirit and even Fred and George’s memorable departure hadn’t really cheered him. Seeing her adoptive brother in despair like this was worse than seeing the scars on his hand from the cursed quill.

One evening she sat alone with Harry while Ron was at Quidditch practice – the last game of the year was approaching, and she knew how badly Harry wanted to be out there with them. He seemed surprised when she closed her books and took his hand, pulling him away from his own homework.

“What’s wrong?”

“Harry, I really wish you’d go back to Snape and ask–”

He let out a snort and pulled away from her. It was the sixth time she’d brought up the failed lessons, and she was at a loss for how to help him. He was the one thing she couldn’t write to Viktor about. Though her older friend was immensely sympathetic about the Umbridge situation and an excellent source of advice about the wizarding world, her relationship with Harry was something she knew Viktor didn’t understand.

“Please listen to me, Harry,” she pleaded. “I’m worried for you. Ron told me how you keep having nightmares, and you think you can feel You-Know-Who’s moods … It’s scary! I know this is what Dumbledore was trying to avoid–”

“Well, maybe if Dumbledore had bothered to talk to me at all this year, things wouldn’t’ve gone this way,” Harry fumed.

Hermione felt a tear squeeze out of her eye. She wished she knew the reason for Dumbledore’s distance; as much as she trusted the Headmaster, he could’ve made things so much easier for Harry if he simply _explained_. The day Harry came to them over the summer and blew up at them was the first time Hermione genuinely wanted to scream at the headmaster herself for making things so hard on Harry.

“I don’t reckon I should be surprised you and Ron were talking behind my back again,” Harry grumbled. Hermione looked at him furiously.

“You know perfectly well that we’re on your side, Harry. We’re concerned about you! Besides, you know Ron isn’t the most observant of people, and I don’t see you as much as he does. Half the time I ask him where you are, he doesn’t even _know_ because you keep wandering off by yourself–”

“It’s fine,” her friend mumbled. “I think I’m just expecting something else horrible to happen, and you and Ron are pretty much all I’ve got left. She’s taken _everything_ else.”

She reached for his hand again. “I won’t speak for Ron, Harry, but I’m not going _anywhere_. She can ruin the DA, make up all her rules, even send Dumbledore and Hagrid away, but she _can’t_ ruin this friendship.” Hermione’s thumb stroked the back of Harry’s hand, which was still scarred from the foul woman’s detentions.

“What if she refused to let you take your OWLs?” Harry teased unsmilingly. Hermione hmphed.

“I’d like to see her _try_. But even if she did, we both know there are more important things, Harry.” The small smile he managed was the first sign of happiness she’d seen in him for weeks, and she finally felt better as she squeezed his hand.

Once, Hermione didn’t even care to give up her time for her peers. Now she was pretty sure she’d give her life for Harry Potter.

*** *** ***

Madam Pomfrey gave Ron and Hermione their nightly doses of potion before reminding Harry gently that he needed to leave the hospital wing shortly. Ron’s potion made him drowsy and he was quickly asleep. Hermione watched the way Harry looked up and down his friend’s arms at the lingering marks from the attacking brain.

“It’s not your fault,” she said quietly.

“You’re both in here ‘cause of me.” Harry said shortly. “Because I fell for his trick.”

“Not exactly,” she replied. “We’re in here because we _care_ about you, Harry. And that isn’t your fault; we care about you by choice. You didn’t drag us with you.”

His eyes were fixed on Ron’s damaged arms. “You trusted me,” he said bitterly.

“No.”

He looked up at her in confusion, and a bit of anger. “You _didn’t_ trust me?”

She sighed. “Harry, you know how I am. I don’t believe anything without _proof_ , and I had plenty of reasons to believe we shouldn’t leave the school. No, I’m sorry, but I didn’t trust that he … that he was there.” She would not say Sirius’ name out loud.

“Then why’d you even bother?” he spat.

“Because I care about you much more than I care about being right,” she replied softly. “Because whether you were correct or not, I expected I could help you, and that’s all that mattered.”

Harry didn’t reply, but after a moment he rose from the chair and she held back her sigh, expecting him to leave the room in anger. To her great surprise he turned and sat beside her on the bed. Next moment he was wrapping his arms around her and several tears dropped onto her shoulder.

He wasn’t ready yet, to talk about Sirius or the prophecy, but he knew she would be there when he was.

*** *** ***

Draco tried to be Harry Potter’s ally and it was pointless. He tried to be Potter’s equal, and nothing worked.

But finally, this year things had been getting better. In the Inquisitorial Squad he had extra privileges, he was getting better marks than ever, he was in the Headmistress’s pocket, and he was on the way to a perfect letter of recommendation from the Minister for Magic himself, which practically guaranteed his whole future. He was ideally placed to take over his father’s position in three years, maybe four. It was perfect. As a bonus, Potty, Weasel, and the Mudblood were so focused on getting around Umbridge that they got themselves into plenty of trouble without Draco needing to lift a finger.

But then Lucius wrecked _everything_. He failed the Dark Lord, he got arrested, and Potter swooped in to save the day _again_. Dumbledore’s Golden Boy was the school hero, and now Malfoy and most of the other Slytherins were nothing but the _spawn of Death Eaters_.

It was the last day of school. Draco had locked himself in a bathroom stall hours ago and he couldn’t stop shaking. His three or four impending years of a perfectly rigged game had vanished overnight. Lucius was getting sentenced in two days. Draco had mere _hours_ to figure out how to fill his father’s shoes, and he was no longer expected to only lead the family: the Dark Lord had returned, and Draco had committed to standing by his father’s side as equals.

Except now, he would be expected to take his father’s _place_ at the Dark Lord’s side.

For the very first time, Draco didn’t want to return home.

*** *** ***

The sharp _bang_ of the gavel echoed in Draco’s ears.

 _Ten years_. The sentence was extended because the Ministry was anxious to make an example of Fudge and his loyalists. Even Lucius’ longstanding position of benefactor to worthy causes wasn’t enough to reduce the sentence.

Draco felt his mother’s shaking hand reach for his and he held it tightly, unable to rise from the hard bench. After what felt like hours he stood, gently tugging her along. He wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to make it to the Atrium where they could safely Floo back to the Manor, but they did somehow.

He stepped out of the fireplace into the Manor’s drawing room and immediately pulled his weeping mother into his arms.

Gentle though she was, Narcissa never cried. Draco’s ongoing struggle to be brave like Lucius had not left him blind to how brave his mother was in her own way. She was one of the strongest people he knew, but he was taller than her now, and with her face buried into his shoulder as she stifled her deep breaths and sobs, it was as though her strength had disappeared. He held her tightly, gulping down his emotions, trying to be brave for her.

Lucius had been the pillar of their family that held everything from crumbling to ash around them. Now at barely sixteen, Draco was responsible for the family’s image, for keeping the Dark Lord happy, and for protecting his mother.

Lucius was to be held in high security where no visitors were permitted and no correspondence was allowed, so even getting long-distance advice from his father was not possible. He might as well be dead. They hadn’t been allowed to say goodbye.

Draco never felt so alone.

*** *** ***

“Cissy.”

Draco and Narcissa looked up from their breakfast to see her tall, thin, elder sister sauntering towards them in her unmistakably confident manner, with her frizzy hair stuck up in every direction so that it briefly reminded him of someone else.

It was odd to admit he’d rather see _Granger_ right now than his aunt.

“What is it, Bella?” Draco could hear the confidence Narcissa must have dug deep into herself to find. It was barely a week since Lucius’ sentence and she’d hardly moved, much less spoken.

“The Dark Lord wants to see him,” Bellatrix sounded thrilled. “He has a special task for Draco!” Draco was pretty sure he froze to his chair. _Already?_

Narcissa took hold of her son’s wrist and held it firmly. “He _can’t_ take Draco. Not now!”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes at her sister. “Cissy, this is a blessing! He can redeem Lucius. He can fix your family’s name, _our_ family’s name!” She reached for Draco’s other hand to tug him up from his chair. Draco was surprised his legs allowed him to stand, however wobbly.

Bellatrix had been visiting him every day of the summer so far to make sure he knew how to behave before the Dark Lord. _Respect. Loyalty. Desire to serve_. Draco had yet to stand in front of his new master, but he expected he’d feel like a house-elf when the time came.

“You’ll be honoured,” his aunt’s voice dripped with longing as Draco felt her long nail run up and down his pale arm. “You will please our Master and prove how useful you are. You aren’t just a Malfoy like your father, boy, you are a _Black!_ ”

He looked back at his mother and had only an instant to see her sharp blue eyes fade from terror into concern into unwilling acceptance. Her emotional control shocked him sometimes. He wished he knew the right words for this moment, when a small portion of him wondered if he’d see her sweet face again. No matter what Bellatrix said, Draco half-expected the Dark Lord to wipe him off the face of the earth to punish his father. Blood was so important in the old ways; the extermination of the family line would be the utmost dishonour, and after the death of Sirius Black, Draco now carried the ends of _two_ bloodlines.

He felt the burden like a weight in his heart. He needed to be more than just a Malfoy. He spent years wanting to be equal to Lucius … now he must find a way to be _better_.

Very slowly, Narcissa let go of Draco’s wrist. She couldn’t argue with her sister; Bellatrix was part of the Dark Lord’s inner circle while Narcissa was married to a disgraced Death Eater. Still, she stated firmly, “Bella, my son is coming back. You’re bringing him back.”

“Yes, of _course_ dear,” Bellatrix’s voice was now dripping with sarcasm. “Once the Dark Lord briefs him on his assignment he will come back, and you can hug him and coddle him and feed him soup and tell him how special he is,” Bellatrix practically cackled as she yanked her deathly pale nephew to the fireplace.

*** *** ***

Narcissa knocked on her son’s door cautiously before letting herself in. After he Flooed home he’d disappeared upstairs. It was nearing dusk, and Narcissa had barely breathed all day.

Draco didn’t acknowledge her entrance. He lay sprawled on the floor, shirt unbuttoned, shoes kicked off, watching the fireflies he conjured dance across the ceiling. It was a juvenile charm, but it comforted him somehow. He found he rather liked the tiny, fluttery movements. Maybe he just needed to be distracted by something light after spending the day in such a dark place.

Narcissa surprised him by joining him on the floor. He couldn’t remember his proper, poised, pure-blood mother sitting on the floor since he was about four years old when she’d knelt to comfort him after he scraped up his knees on the patio stones. Now she delicately curled her feet under herself and smoothed her skirt over her knees. He kept watching the fireflies, refusing to meet her gaze. The moment he said it aloud, it would become too real. His jaw was set like alabaster stone.

Her voice may have belonged to a mouse. “What is it you must do?”

A few minutes passed. Perhaps longer, Draco wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure his throat was still operating correctly. It took several swallows before he could get out some words.

“Kill …”

Narcissa inhaled sharply.

“… Dumbledore.”

He didn’t let her hug him, coddle him, or tell him how special he was. Instead, after a few moments in which she sat utterly frozen, he stiffly rolled from his supine position and embraced her instead.

There had never been a day like this. For all intents and purposes, Draco should have been proud of himself. He’d hidden his fear. He thanked his new master with the due respect his aunt had taught him while she beamed proudly from across the room. He listened to his instructions, and he accepted his task with barely a twitch. He shoved all his feelings behind a brick wall inside his mind; if he dared show weakness, he and Narcissa would be punished.

It was Lucius who chose to follow the Dark Lord, and Draco who chose to blindly follow Lucius. She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t deserve for him to fail.

 _Lucius_ had failed. Despite a lifetime of controlling fear, the man allowed his compulsions to control him. He so desperately wanted revenge on Potter, on the _children_ that bested his son, that he became distracted and sloppy. Draco couldn’t be his father; he must be _better_. If the Dark Lord wanted fealty, Draco would live on his knees. He would scrub his master’s floors like a house-elf. He’d find a way to kill Dumbledore, or he’d die trying.

Twice this week Draco watched his mother cry, probably more than the last ten years combined. He sat propped against his armchair and held her for a long time, burying his own emotions. He stroked her soft hair and allowed her to cry on his behalf.

*** *** ***

_Draco,_

_Haven’t heard from you in a while. What did you think of that idea I had for exercising with a Strengthening Solution? I still think it would build up my arms faster, but I know you thought I’d lose energy too fast because of the bat blood … I wanted to give it a shot anyway but we both know you’re the Potions expert, so I reluctantly admit I need your help._

_Don’t get a big head. We both know you’d have failed your Astronomy OWL if it weren’t for me._

_Blaise_

*** *** ***

_Draco,_

_It’s been weeks, mate, where’ve you been? Nott said he saw you in Diagon Alley last week, but we were going to go together. Don’t tell me you forgot. You know I’m lousy at picking out robes that fit._

_Slimy git._

_Blaise_

*** *** ***

_Malfoy,_

_Seriously, where are you? You better open the Floo so I can come see you because I’m starting to bloody panic. Theo thinks you’re getting pushed to take your father’s place. I told him you’re not that thick. You better not prove him right, because he’s always right and it’s irritating._

_Look, I know your father messed up and you probably want to try and set things right, but it’s NOT gonna work! You’re sixteen, you brainless git, you know you can’t be one of them._

_You better reply so I know if I’ll see you on the train, because if you don’t show, I’m going to the Ministry and telling them you’re missing. We both know you won’t like that. Consequences be damned. Or maybe I’ll write to your Mum. I’m not scared._

_Blaise. Again._

_PS – The Strengthening Solution didn’t work. I passed out in two minutes and couldn’t lift my arms for a week. Don’t say I told you so._

*** *** ***

Draco didn’t dare send an owl to Blaise, because he strongly suspected all correspondence out of the Manor was being watched, and his friend wasn’t personally known to the Dark Lord. Nott’s father was a known ally, currently sitting in jail next to Lucius, so Draco wrote Theo to pass along a simple message to the other boy: _Yes, I’m alive_ , _yes, I’m coming on the train_ , and _yes, I told you so_.

Draco gritted his teeth. _Lucky Theo_. Nott would be all but ignored by the Death Eaters until he finished school. The Dark Lord didn’t bother with unqualified followers, as he reminded Draco several times; the only reason Draco was “lucky” enough to join the ranks early was thanks to Lucius’ spectacular failure at leading the Ministry Prophecy-Retrieval Fiasco. He thought with a jolt that Theo would be in his place right now if Nott Senior had been chosen, but the fool didn’t have Lucius’ leadership or casting skills.

Draco hated not being able to talk to Blaise; his friend had the advantage of keeping a logical head and, despite being a loyal Slytherin, he kept a neutral political position. Blaise could probably join either side if a war started, but Draco no longer had a choice. _If I ever really did,_ he thought bitterly.

The only useful thing he could do, Draco reminded himself nightly, was ensure he didn’t drag anyone else down with him. Not Blaise, and not his mother.

*** *** ***


	6. Of Cabinets and Choices

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 6: Of Cabinets and Choices**

As much as he hated leaving his mother alone with her sister and other Death Eaters who were beginning to use the Manor as a base of operations, Draco was thrilled to be getting away from the daily pressures of fealty and servitude. He greeted Crabbe and Goyle at King’s Cross with his usual mild enthusiasm, not expecting them to say much. Several feet away Theo gave Draco a sharp, knowing nod, which Draco returned. Silence was a given these days, but the nod said enough.

Draco managed to find a free compartment and just barely made it through the door before he was accosted by Pansy, who threw her arms around him tightly crying out, “I missed you!”

Draco slowly patted her on the back, thinking hard. He fully expected her to ask him out again, as she’d hinted several times via owl throughout the summer, and he found himself considering it. Dating Pansy would give him a good excuse to avoid the company of other Slytherins without rousing suspicion, and she might also provide a useful distraction while he worked on his task. He wasn’t concerned about possible emotional attachment; he was more likely to fall in love with Goyle.

“So,” he started as he pushed her thin black hair away from her face. “When are you planning to ask me out?” He accompanied his query with a perfect smirk, which he knew she liked. She wrote often of his _platinum locks_ and his _deliciously dangerous_ _smirk_. She was quickly pink in the cheeks and practically swooning. She almost bowled him over by rushing at his lips and only pulled away when Crabbe and Goyle caught up and made smooching noises at them.

After his lackeys put away his trunk for him, Draco adopted his usual air of superiority as he laid back leisurely along the seats with his head in Pansy’s lap. He was comfortable, and she was thrilled, but it was short-lived as Blaise burst into the compartment just as the train began moving.

“You lazy _prat!_ ” He accused the relaxing blond. “You’ve been ignoring my owls all summer!”

“Funny, he hasn’t been ignoring _mine_ ,” Pansy leered at him with a simpering smile. Draco smirked up at his bewildered friend.

“Sorry mate, been kinda er– distracted,” Draco drawled obviously. Blaise’s eyes narrowed for a second – he knew perfectly well that Draco wasn’t interested in Pansy – and Draco suddenly wondered if he was about to be challenged. He looked at Blaise intensely, nonverbally threatening his friend to stay quiet. To his relief, Blaise took the hint and stowed his trunk.

“You’re an arse,” he said simply as he took the last seat.

*** *** ***

Draco fell asleep on Pansy’s lap for a little while. He wouldn’t’ve guessed, but her stroking his hair was pleasant and surprisingly comforting. He woke with a start when Blaise reopened the door after returning from his impromptu luncheon invitation.

He questioned Blaise carefully, trying not to be jealous that a well-connected wizard knew him but not Draco. He tried to relax again but his prompt jolt from sleep seemed to have disturbed the emotional brick wall in his mind. He internally thanked Aunt Bella for doing _one_ useful thing in teaching him Occlumency. He was no expert, but she praised him often for his obvious fealty to the Dark Lord – having no idea that Draco’s fealty was about ninety percent fake and ten percent desperation.

Draco kept a careful hold on the title of Most Important Slytherin in his year because he needed the others. He needed Pansy to distract him and he needed Crabbe and Goyle to follow his instructions. While keeping a leash on Pansy seemed to be easy, Greg and Vince had shown no interest in Draco so far but were listening carefully to Blaise. He needed the thugs on _his_ side.

Careful to keep his emotions stowed, he made a move to sound more impressive than his friend.

“I might not even be at Hogwarts next year … I might have – er – moved on to bigger and better things.”

“Do you mean – _Him?_ ” she breathed.

Draco merely shrugged. To his pleasure, Pansy seemed to almost shiver in response, and Greg and Vince were now gaping in his direction. They already knew he was given a job – their fathers would’ve told them by now – but like Theo they’d been told to finish school and qualify as adult wizards first. Blaise would most likely avoid the Dark Lord completely, so Draco felt confident he could maintain the upper hand in Slytherin.

Blaise, unfortunately, decided to call his bluff. “And you think _you’ll_ be able to do something for him? Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?”

“Maybe the job he wants me to do isn’t something that you need to be qualified for,” Draco replied quietly.

Thankfully, his friend was smart enough not to ask questions in mixed company.

*** *** ***

By October Draco began to forget about meals unless Blaise dragged him to the Great Hall and forced food onto his plate. Though annoying at first, he was secretly grateful for his friend’s interference. Despite Blaise’s constant insistence to know what was going on with him, Draco wouldn’t allow him to help, although reminding him to eat was enough.

At least, it was enough until Draco found himself in a desperate situation. He couldn’t trust Crabbe or Goyle not to mess things up, Pansy was utterly out of the question, and Theo would say no before he got the question out.

He managed to drag Blaise into an empty classroom mid-afternoon one Friday. “I can’t go to Hogsmeade tomorrow, McGonagall’s making me do detention,” Draco said under his breath.

“You forgot the essay again, didn’t you?” Blaise scolded him. Draco rolled his eyes and Blaise grimaced at him. “I know you think you’re gonna be all special and honoured now, but you still have to pass school, you idiot!”

“I will,” Draco gritted. “Look, I was supposed to do something tomorrow, but now I can’t leave the school. There’s a bloke I’m paying to drop something off, and it needs to be collected and delivered. Can you do it?”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“No.”

“Will I be in danger?”

“Not likely.”

“Any particular reason you don’t trust me?”

“I _do_ ,” Draco hissed. “But you _know_ I can’t tell you–”

“It’s fine,” Blaise cut him off with a sigh. “You’ll owe me one. Tell me what you need.”

*** *** ***

Although Hufflepuffs were stereotypically the loyal ones, Blaise had grown to find himself surprisingly fond of, and thus loyal to Draco Malfoy. He didn’t share the blind devotion of Goyle, Pansy, and Crabbe because he knew the real boy under the superior Slytherin surface. He wasn’t in the habit of allowing anyone to order him around, but Blaise prepared to do as his friend asked since he knew Draco trusted him far beyond his fan club.

Blaise waited in a shadowy alley in Hogsmeade until he located a scraggly ginger bloke who looked suspiciously like a thief. He paid the man with Draco’s gold and retrieved a package that fit easily in his pocket. The exchange went smoothly, but the timing nearly compromised him; Blaise would’ve never guessed that Potter and his friends seemed familiar with the other man and approached him mere moments after the trade.

Moving quickly, Blaise slipped into the Three Broomsticks where it was easy to blend in with the crowd of students. Grateful for his nondescript black cloak, he slipped covertly between the tables and ducked into the shadows behind the bar just long enough to drop the package atop a barrel of mead as instructed without opening it. He casually moved back to the front of the bar and leaned against a pillar. He froze when he heard Potter come in bursting out about someone stealing.

 _So that guy WAS a thief._ Blaise briefly wondered if the package he retrieved had been stolen from Potter or one of his friends. His anxiety over his loyalty to Malfoy was battling with his desire to know exactly what he was getting himself into. The Slytherin instinct was self-preservation, after all.

Thankfully, the barmaid retrieved the package as planned and Blaise walked away quickly with his hands clean.

*** *** ***

Harry received his detention notice from Snape and was irritably seething. Ron had left the room in a huff, and Hermione was completely ignoring her books. As much as Harry wasn’t interested in having dinner with Slughorn, he envied Hermione for being able to go instead of having detention with Snape, even though the situation made Ron pitch a jealous fit.

Hermione tossed her quill between her hands anxiously. She wasn’t worried about the dinner; she expected that if things got too awkward around McLaggen she could use homework as an excuse to leave early. She was much more concerned about Lavender Brown. Her roommate had secretly fancied Ron for a while and Hermione accidently overheard Parvati telling Lavender that she should go for it.

Hermione wrestled with her emotions. Ron could be quite sweet, and a good friend when he wanted to be, and she couldn’t deny he was becoming quite handsome. The problem was his short temper. He was easily jealous and quick to jump to conclusions, which was frustrating and childish–

“So, I’ve never been more _fanciable_ , eh?” she suspected Harry was trying to distract her from her anxiety, or perhaps his own.

“Yes, though that head of yours might need a Shrinking Charm,” she replied haughtily.

He grinned at her. “Ready to admit you were trying to make Ron jealous?” _Damn._ She forgot Harry could be quite perceptive sometimes. “I suppose that’s also why you Confunded McLaggen earlier,” he added with a smirk.

Hermione felt her cheeks warm but decided to retort like a proper sister and replied innocently, “I suppose it’ll be nice having Ginny on your team; as captain you’ve actual excuses now to keep an eye on her.” She smiled at Harry’s very wide eyes. “Oh, Harry, you’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

Harry irritably tapped his fingers on the table. Hermione was much too observant, and he knew he couldn’t lie to her. After a few moments he looked at her amusedly. “So, if this works out for us both, are we gonna _actually_ be brother and sister someday, then?”

She sighed. “He’s got some growing up to do. He’s far too jealous and jumps to conclusions before thinking–”

“You dunno the half of it,” Harry muttered. After a pause he dared to ask, “Think Ginny’s happy with Dean?”

“For now,” Hermione replied staidly. “I gather she doesn’t seem to be interested in anything distinctly long-term at the moment, so it likely won’t last forever.”

Harry tried to ignore the swooping feeling in his stomach. It was truly unfair that Hermione knew his feelings even before he was sure, though probably nobody knew her quite like she did. Unfortunately, the Amortentia hadn’t helped when it all but confirmed his suspicions. He suddenly cracked a grin as he glanced back at his friend. “So, freshly mown grass, and parchment, and …?”

Hermione blushed deep pink and pressed her lips together. Harry stared her down patiently. “You and Ron use the same shampoo,” she muttered under her breath.

“Well yeah, it’s the same minty stuff they always put in the showers–” she looked up at him through her lashes. “ _Oh._ ”

“It’s silly, but I feel comfortable around both of you,” she murmured. Harry didn’t reply, but his soft expression indicated he was abashedly pleased. If he sat there smelling the potion long enough himself, he supposed he would’ve detected Hermione’s subtle citrus shampoo, too. Being around her _was_ undeniably comforting. “Your turn,” she insisted. Harry huffed.

“Treacle tart–”

“No surprise.”

“Something woody, like a–”

“Broomstick, no doubt.”

“And, er–”

“Gardenias?” Hermione guessed with a grin. She knew perfectly well what Ginny’s perfume smelled like, having shared a room with her most of the summer. She’d seen Harry looking round in confusion when Ginny came up behind him in the Great Hall after their first Potions lesson; he'd certainly smelled it on her.

“I have to go sort out rotten Flobberworms now,” Harry announced.

“Don’t forget to breathe through your mouth.”

*** *** ***

Draco finally located an empty corridor and leaned against the wall, trying to remind himself how to breathe. He was desperate to go work at the blasted cabinet again, but he needed a few minutes to gather his focus. The Christmas holidays had been less relaxing than his Transfiguration OWL; he was pretty sure his limbs were still twitching from all the _warnings_.

The cunning Slytherins were known for being stealthy, though it was rare that they could sneak up on each other. It was a mark of how distracted Draco was that he didn’t notice Blaise until they were nearly touching.

“This is an odd place to stop,” Blaise noted as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to his friend. Draco braced his palms against the wall and didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to keep quiet any longer, but he still wasn’t desperate enough to risk his friend’s safety. It was easier to rely on Crabbe and Goyle for guard duty; they were too thick to ask dangerous questions and would blindly follow their fathers in the Dark Lord’s shadow no matter what Draco did.

“I know what’s going on,” Blaise said quietly. “There’s something they want you to do and you’re trying, but it’s not working.” Draco’s mouth went into a tight line and he fisted his hands into his overgrown hair; he couldn’t decide to be relieved or not. “Can I help?”

Draco let out a slow breath and shook his head. “It’s not allowed,” he muttered carefully. “If I don’t do it myself, they’ll …”

“… hurt you.” Blaise finished for him. Draco looked sideways at the other boy who raised an eyebrow. “Hurt _them?_ ” Draco just stared at his shoes in response.

“Sometimes I hate the Slytherin way,” Blaise said softly. “We’re supposed to be cunning and sneaky and independent. We can’t rely on others because it makes us weak.”

 _Yes._ Draco slid down to the floor and Blaise followed. The boys sat still for a few moments. Draco knew Blaise would stay quiet until Draco spoke. He envied Blaise for his patience; they both knew long silences made Draco uneasy. “Snape keeps trying to help me,” Draco admitted finally.

“You’re not going to let him.”

“No. Even though he said my mother made an Unbreakable Vow with him, so he had to try.”

Blaise sat still and thought for a while. “You’re not doing this for you, are you? You’re not following _him_ because it’s what you want.”

 _It WAS … I wanted to be equal. Powerful. I wanted to be my father. But now …_ “For her,” he said in a whisper. “Just for her. If it were only about me, I’d run away.”

Blaise twirled his wand between his fingers. He never imagined the idea of risking his life for somebody else. His mother was an independent woman; she entertained herself by clawing at a new man every couple of years until she became bored, and then she took her half of the divorce proceedings and moved on. If something frightened her, she ran away. Twice, she forgot to take Blaise with her. He was just barely willing to relocate for the woman; he knew he wouldn’t die for her.

He didn’t want to be a Death Eater. He didn’t want to be under someone else’s control – he wanted his _own_ control. And of course his friend wanted the same thing … but Draco’s control had been stolen away. Blaise hated seeing him like this; his friend was all but fading before his eyes. He’d been genuinely terrified over the summer when he hadn’t heard from Draco and it baffled him. He wasn’t used to caring about somebody else.

He took a deep breath. _In for a Knut, in for a Galleon._ If he could do nothing else, perhaps he could give his friend some control back.

Blaise waited until Draco looked him straight in the eyes, so Draco would know he was serious. “Tell me what you need. I don’t want to follow him … but I’ll follow you.”

*** *** ***

Harry paced outside the hospital wing. Hermione raced up to him, flushed. “Is he …?”

“Alive,” Harry gritted through his teeth. “But she won’t let me in.”

Hermione sank to the floor. For weeks she avoided Ron Weasley at all costs, hiding in deserted classrooms to complete her homework and only returning to the common room after she knew he vacated. Prefect duties with him had been little short of torture. She’d thought losing him to her vapid roommate was the worst thing that could happen …

Harry slipped to the floor next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him and sobbed. He knew she didn’t him need to speak.

*** *** ***

Hermione looked up from her book at Ron’s flushed, sleeping face. His bright hair drew such sharp contrast to the white sheets of the hospital wing it may as well have been on fire.

The news of his near-death had terrified Hermione to an extent she hadn’t felt since the Department of Mysteries. Now his light snoring – which should be utterly annoying – was the most reassuring sound she ever heard.

She studied him carefully. She’d been avoiding him so desperately for weeks that she hadn’t noticed how his slightly plump cheeks had withdrawn showing defined cheekbones, or how the gangly arms draped across the crisp white sheets had solidified with lean muscle, no doubt helped by his improved skills as Keeper.

The boy she cared for had morphed into a man.

*** *** ***

It took almost an hour to convince Pansy to leave Malfoy’s side in the hospital so Blaise could take her place. He didn’t particularly care for Draco’s girlfriend, but he tolerated her since he knew it wasn’t permanent. Draco disinterestedly provided her minimal attention, which she relished, and he simply allowed her to strut around the school holding his arm and showing him off like a trophy. The girl was little more than a distraction, and blissfully unaware.

While most of the Slytherin boys came from old families and were ideal candidates for arranged marriages among the pure-blood witches, not many of them had the advantage of good looks. Goyle’s blood was just as pure as Malfoy’s, but that criterion was hardly enough. Blaise knew with no uncertainty that Parkinson wanted Draco because he could pass for part-Veela instead of part-troll.

Blaise stared down at his pale, sleeping friend. He must’ve lost loads of blood in the accident; whatever attractiveness the blond had before could barely be seen. For months Malfoy appeared under-nourished and stressed, but now he looked more like a ghost than a wizard. The dark circles under his eyes had become his most prominent feature, his skin was as grey as his eyes, his cheeks were hollow, and even his lips had lost their colour.

It took weeks of prodding, but finally Draco told Blaise what he was doing, though only daring to utter one simple statement: “I have to fix a broken magical object.”

Blaise wasn’t as much of a researcher as Nott – or Granger – but he leaped at the opportunity to help his friend with something apart from reminding him not to starve himself to death. He dug through books and references, assuming the object in question was either Dark or questionably Dark, and most likely rare. Unfortunately, any time he suggested a book, reference, or spell, his friend simply shook his head in defeat. It seemed Draco had exhausted all the regular options.

Blaise finally realized he needed to think differently from his friend, and yesterday he struck gold. He slipped into the Restricted Section with an inkling to look through old Runic texts, one of which focused on spell-reversal. Draco didn’t read runes, so Blaise stayed up all night translating. He found a process to strip enchantments from powerful magical objects, and how to fix the object if it malfunctioned during the stripping process.

He still had no idea if this would really help his friend, and Draco probably wouldn’t risk admitting out loud if it helped, so Blaise carefully slid the book – complete with translation – into his friend’s bag and slipped noiselessly out of the hospital wing.

*** *** ***

“… now at last we can speak plainly to each other … no harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived … I can help you, Draco.”

“No, you can’t,” Draco countered in his forced steady voice. “Nobody can. He told me to do it or he’ll kill me. I’ve got no choice.”

“Come over to the right side, Draco … it is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now.”

There was a long pause. The bright blue eyes of his Headmaster pierced into Draco’s. He’d never properly made eye contact with Dumbledore, and it was plain now that something was wrong with the old man. He was shaking, barely able to stand on his own feet. It would be so easy to murmur one spell, to push the sick old man off the Tower. He wouldn’t even need the Killing Curse.

According to almost everyone, the Dark Lord was the most powerful wizard that existed, _except_ Dumbledore. But it wasn’t Dumbledore who held the life of every surviving Malfoy in his hands. Draco never had a choice; he allied with _him_ , for his family. _Family is everything._ If he knew nothing else, he always knew that. And yet, despite the shaking legs of the man before him, there was a different kind of power in those bright blue eyes that Draco had never seen in his master.

The Dark Lord didn’t care about family. He didn’t even care about his followers – Draco knew that now. He tortured even his most loyal followers with no remorse, and he tortured some unlucky wizards for his own amusement. Not for the first time Draco dared to wonder … even if he _did_ kill Dumbledore right now, would it guarantee his family’s safety? Or would the Dark Lord torture and kill the Malfoys anyway the next time he was in a bad mood? What if Draco accomplished this impossible task, and then was given another? Would he prove himself worthy and then be asked to kill the Minister of Magic next? Or _Potter?_

Blaise kept talking to Draco about “sides.” He knew why Blaise didn’t want to pick a side; he simply tried to keep himself off the board so he wouldn’t have to fight at all. He was lucky to have a choice. Draco thought the Malfoys had no choice, but now the man who preached love and respect – who was offended by the mere use of the word _Mudblood_ – was offering Draco a choice he never expected. And as he looked in Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes, possibly the exact opposite of the slit-like eyes of the Dark Lord, Draco realized he trusted the old man. If Dumbledore saved the Malfoys, he wouldn’t turn on them and randomly torture them for his own amusement. Dumbledore would gain no pleasure from that …

Draco hardly dared to believe it was possible that there was another way.

He began to lower his wand.

But he waited too long; he’d forgotten all about the distractions he let into the school. Several minutes later he watched Dumbledore’s lifeless body tumbling off the Tower.

*** *** ***


	7. Of Tents and Trauma

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 7: Of Tents and Trauma**

“Your hesitance to kill your teacher might be considered admirable,” Voldemort sneered in Draco’s direction. Though the snakelike face rarely betrayed emotion, it was obvious that the news of Dumbledore’s death made the Dark Lord the happiest he’d been in a very long time.

Snape concluded his report of the evening’s events and Voldemort turned his attention back to his favourite follower. “Pleased as I am, Severus, I wish to know why you desired to finish the old man yourself when young Draco hesitated. There were several of you in the vicinity; were you perhaps anxious to reap the glory, old friend?”

Snape’s face held the emotion of a stone; Draco longed to perfect this skill. “I will not deny, my Lord, that I long carried a desire to rid the world of that old fool myself, and certainly I was anxious to ensure your wishes were met–”

“Yet I suspect, Severus, that you conceal an ulterior motive. Perhaps you care for the young Malfoy? Perhaps you hoped he could be saved from committing murder?” Voldemort lazily gestured at Draco with his wand, where he’d been unceremoniously tossed to the floor near Voldemort’s feet by the Carrow siblings. “Do you care for the boy? Would you care now, I wonder, if I were to dispose of him? He has served his purpose, after all.” Draco felt his heart freeze like a shard of ice as he stayed on his knees in what he hoped looked like a subservient position and not one of utter terror.

“I–” Snape began. He cut off as the robed figure next to him fell to her knees. Only utter shock prevented Draco from crying out as Narcissa groveled before the Dark Lord, her wand surrendered at her side.

“Please, my Lord, place no blame upon Severus,” Narcissa’s usually steady voice was nearly gasping. “It was at my request that he assist Draco and complete the job should he falter. I coerced Severus, my Lord, I implored him to take an Unbreakable Vow to protect my son. It was my doing, and mine alone.”

Draco opened his mouth, desperate to speak, to defend her, but Snape’s dark eyes shot to him quickly. Draco forced himself to remain silent. He couldn’t help trusting Snape, especially since Narcissa did. He held his breath, waiting.

“One cannot put a price on a mother’s love,” Voldemort said softly, perhaps with a trace of empathy, though his lips were still drawn into a sneer. “Did I not specify clearly, however, that if Draco should fail at his task, he would be punished?”

Narcissa’s reply was cut off as a red beam of light hit Draco square in the chest. He screamed and thrashed, and Narcissa’s pleas for mercy were drowned out. Snape remained still but after a moment placed one hand on the shoulder of the anguished witch beside him. When it finally ended, Draco gasped for breath and Narcissa’s tears flowed freely, which seemed to amuse Voldemort.

“If I may, my Lord,” Snape said quietly. “I did perhaps act too quickly, with or without the influence of a Vow. One cannot fault a mere teenager for hesitating to commit his first murder, particularly murder of a man he knew for six years. I take full responsibility for not allowing the boy the time he needed to complete the task of his own accord.”

Voldemort merely glanced down at Draco with his piercing eyes of flame. Draco’s limbs struggled to maintain a half-kneeling position with one sweaty hand braced against the floor to steady himself. His need to reply to his master was once again made unnecessary by an interference, but this time from his aunt.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix simpered from Voldemort’s other side. “I beg of you to consider that my nephew is the last remaining member of not only the Malfoy family, but also of the Black line. He can carry on two powerful families … I am childless, my Lord, and our sister a dishonoured traitor …”

“Indeed, Bellatrix,” Voldemort drawled, eyes still fixed on Draco, who kept his head bowed seemingly out of reverence, but mostly to avoid his master’s eyes. “His blood is pure … it would be a waste …” It was plain that Voldemort had made up his mind already, but all present knew he played with his prey. He took his time amusedly flickering his gaze between Snape, Narcissa, Bellatrix, and back to Draco, who kept his eyes fixed on a pebble on the otherwise spotless floor.

“Severus. You have accomplished what many believed to be an impossible task, and you have my thanks. I have many new plans surrounding the next year at Hogwarts School, and I trust I can count on you to enact them?”

“With no doubt, my Lord.”

“We shall convene later for discussion.” The gesture of dismissal sent Snape into a final bow before he quietly floated out of the room. Narcissa visibly tensed as he was forced to abandon her.

“Now, young Draco …”

Thinking only of his mother on her knees across the room, Draco raised his head to meet the terrifying eyes again. He redirected all his energy to the brick wall masking his fear.

“You did much more than I expected,” Voldemort said, amused. “You not only granted my Death Eaters access to the most protected building in Britain – apart, I daresay, from this Manor – but you also cornered the old fool and ensured the event of his demise.” In his peripheral vision, Draco saw his aunt beaming with pride.

Draco bowed his head again and tried to speak coherently. “It was an honour to carry out your wishes, my Lord.” _I’m just a house-elf_.

“You have much to learn yet, young Malfoy. Your final school year approaches, and I think you will find the curriculum to be fine-tuned to my precise expectations. You will savour your lessons, and if I direct you in the future to take a life, you shall not hesitate.”

“No, my Lord,” Draco whispered.

“I trust you have _nearly_ learned your lesson for today,” Voldemort said quietly. Draco kept his head bowed and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain.

It never came; instead, the room filled with the tortured screams of Narcissa Malfoy.

*** *** ***

Dumbledore’s death was a silent catalyst throughout the entire school. Everyone was terrified, teachers grieved as they rushed about, parents came to take their children away, Harry was silently plotting, Ron was ashen and depressed, and Hermione’s mind was spinning like a Weasley’s Wildfire Whiz-Bang.

Chosen One or not, Harry was the heart of their operation. He held all their courage and their strength, and she and Ron looked to him as a leader, possessing qualities they both lacked. Ron was particularly good at strategy; he kept her and Harry on track and often found solutions they overlooked – she couldn’t count how many times Ron’s voice echoed in her head during times of distress: “ _Are you a witch or not!?_ ”

Now, Hermione had a job the boys couldn’t manage without her. She needed to _plan_.

She began with the horcruxes. Even after using the Cloak to scour the Restricted Section, every book she located was utterly unhelpful. On their last day at Hogwarts, desperate, she went to her dormitory window and began to Summon books. Perhaps they would come from a shop in Hogsmeade – she no longer cared about breaking rules or even laws because the information was priceless. To her surprise, books began zooming through the air from a different part of the castle itself, and she realized with a start that Dumbledore must’ve withheld them from the library.

They left Hogwarts and Hermione went straight to the Burrow with Ron. Her parents didn’t expect her for another week anyway.

Days of endless reading finally gave her a slightly better handle on how they’d begin hunting the horcruxes. She wrote down everything Harry told them, and she began compiling lists of other books they could use. When she was satisfied, her obsession promptly shifted. As they moved around looking for clues, they would need protection, supplies, potions, healing spells, and as many backup plans as she could think of. She considered every possible escape route, every possible hiding place, and she expected that the moment Harry turned seventeen, they would need to run at a moment’s notice. She had to think of Apparition points. She needed to have things packed. The clock was ticking.

She decided quickly that she needed Mr. Weasley’s help. Undetectable Extension Charms were against the law unless approved by the Ministry, but she no longer cared. They could try and throw her out of the wizarding world _after_ she helped Harry win the war … if she survived that long.

After planning everything else she could possibly think of, she reluctantly directed her attention to the thing she was most terrified to do. Since Voldemort’s return, she suspected it might come to this. She’d declared Harry Potter her adoptive brother and silently pledged to follow him into death itself, and she was never turning back.

Tears streamed down her face as she began tearing into research on Memory Charms. Harry and Ron aside, the people Hermione loved most in the world would be safe. No matter the sacrifice.

*** *** ***

Draco sat stiffly in an armchair in his bedroom. Only weeks ago, he lounged in the Slytherin common room making jokes with Crabbe and Goyle, for once in a good enough mood to act like his old self. He finally knew nothing could go wrong. He had every tool to fulfill his task, and he needed only the right moment before he would be the most valuable Death Eater in the country, securing his family’s safety.

He’d been so _sure_. There was one choice. Everything had been laid out perfectly, but for a few words from a dying man; an unknown escape that made him hesitate. Dumbledore’s death had not removed the doubt that continued to grow behind Draco’s mental brick wall. The old man might be gone, but he stood for something greater, for _them_. And they were still out there.

He’d been taught for over a year that the Order of the Phoenix was full of Muggle-loving losers like the Weasleys who followed Dumbledore because they feared the Dark Lord’s power. The Order could not possibly understand the Dark Lord’s values – the _old ways_ – because its members were corrupted by weak blood. The death of their leader should surely have made the entire Order fall to its knees.

Except it seemed to make the Order stronger.

Draco had barely stepped outside his own room in a month, but the reports came anyway. He was still included in every meeting, and he couldn’t easily avoid them since they were held in his family dining room. He knew the Order was growing, and they were fiercer than ever. They even managed to save Harry Potter from the grasp of the Dark Lord himself, yet again. No matter how Voldemort boasted of his followers’ power and superiority, Draco couldn’t get past the fact that the innumerable Death Eaters couldn’t kill one skinny teenager.

What if the Death Eaters hadn’t shown up at the Astronomy Tower? Would Draco have had the chance to take Dumbledore’s offer and save his family? Would the Order have protected them? Perhaps Narcissa wouldn’t have been tortured … every time he thought of it, Draco wanted to pull his own hair out. No matter how much he didn’t care for Dumbledore, he firmly believed the old man _never_ would’ve raised a wand to Narcissa.

He imagined, now, walking up to a known member of the Order – McGonagall, perhaps – and asking for help. He promptly pictured the tight lips of the strict professor, reminding him with a single look that Dumbledore was _dead_ because of him. He might’ve lowered his wand, but _he_ let the Death Eaters in. _He_ lured Dumbledore to the Tower. He hadn’t committed murder, but the Dark Lord decided it was prudent for Draco to begin his seventh year “lessons” early and ordered that he master the Cruciatus Curse.

Since the first time he mounted a broom, Draco proved to be a natural expert at something … and he felt nothing but shame despite his ability to pretend otherwise. Eight times now he’d been provided with a prisoner – a Muggle-born, a Death Eater who disobeyed, sometimes he wasn’t even sure why the wizard was being punished – and they screamed and thrashed in pain at the end of _his_ wand. And because he must please his master, Draco did it over and over, and he _grinned_.

It was too late. He’d become a monster, and the Order would never protect him.

*** *** ***

Harry left his bedroom at Grimmauld Place and found Hermione on the sofa in the drawing room. “You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured. He took a seat next to her. He hadn’t slept well, either. Despite Arthur’s Patronus several days ago, they were all terrified of receiving news that someone else was dead.

Hermione’s silent tears escaped Harry’s notice until he felt one splash on his hand. He wordlessly slid his arms around her, and she sobbed into his chest. They both felt the normal boundaries of their friendship shift. There was no going back. She was following him to the end, no matter what, and he knew he’d never be able to talk her out of it.

“Hermione, I’m sorry … about your parents.”

“I had to do it, Harry. There was no other choice.” More silence as her tears stained his shirt.

“After we get through all this, we can help you find them–”

“I know I said that’s what I wanted but I– I can’t … I’ve no idea where they moved exactly, and the– the spell …” she choked.

“You couldn’t take it off?”

“I had to make sure it couldn’t be taken off. You know how he– he tortured people to reach under the Memory Charm, like Bertha Jorkins, and …” she held his shirt very tightly in her fist and didn’t speak again.

Harry stroked her back and said nothing else. Her sacrifice for him was beyond what he could acknowledge. He wished for a way to give her everything she deserved, but right now he wasn’t even sure he could keep her and Ron alive.

*** *** ***

“You can’t do this! We promised–”

“You thought he had more information, too! And you’re _still_ choosing him!”

“Ron, there IS no choice! You know he needs us, it’s the only chance to defeat Vol–”

“He needs _you!_ ” Ron spat. “He’s the precious _Chosen One_ and you’re practically his brain. I’m just a ruddy horcrux-holder!”

“NO, Ron, you’re our best friend, and you’re like … like our group strategist! We _need_ you!”

“Too late,” he hissed.

_Crack!_

Hermione wasn’t sure how long she stood in the wind before she realized she couldn’t feel her toes. She crept back into the tent and cried, “He’s … g-g-gone! Disapparated!” She collapsed into a chair and broke into harsh sobs. There was a time when she wouldn’t cry like this in front of Harry, but she no longer cared. The few strings of hope she clung to began to fade.

She felt Harry place some blankets over her, but she didn’t move all night.

*** *** ***

_Ron was struggling, but the dark figures ignored his relentless screams. Blood trickled down his freckled face as he gasped for breath. She was desperate to reach for him, to make it stop, but Ron began to fade completely. Inch by inch he disappeared, and no matter how much she screamed and cried, he vanished completely into solid darkness._

*** *** ***

They had set up camp on a heather-covered hillside. Harry was unexpectedly jerked out of his quiet thoughts as interim door-keeper by a shriek. He raced into the tent to find Hermione thrashing in her bed and crying out. He rushed to her side and took hold of her wrists fiercely while urging her to wake.

Finally, she woke with a gasp. “Harry …” she sobbed. “He got caught … and– and tortured …” She blindly grabbed at him, still half-asleep. Harry gulped back his own feelings and pulled his friend into his arms.

She cried into his shoulder for a little while. He sat next to her pillow and stroked her hair until her sobs stifled and she slipped her head down to his lap. “What do we do now?” She managed to cough out softly.

“We can’t stop, Hermione. We won’t stop.” He said _we_ , clinging to the desperate hope that she wouldn’t leave him next.

She gripped his shirt tightly in her left hand until she fell asleep again.

*** *** ***

Over the next several days the somber duo barely spoke. After another episode of sobbing nightmares, Harry began lying still beside Hermione until she managed to get to sleep. He didn’t know what to do next, and he was so afraid she’d take any excuse to leave him behind that he focused on doing everything he could for her.

Hermione had fallen asleep next to Ron several times during their month at Grimmauld Place. Harry’s warm arm around her combined with the familiar scent of his shampoo – the same as Ron’s – was comforting. He kept the nightmares from coming back.

She was grateful but frustrated since Harry couldn’t keep proper watch while he sat with her. On the fourth night when it was her turn to sleep, she stubbornly dragged her mattress to the doorway and propped up plenty of pillows for Harry so he could watch the door without leaving her alone. He half-smiled at her problem-solving and settled in at the edge of the mattress with a hand on his wand and the other across her pillow. He was glad to help her find some peace in her dreams. Listening to her nightmares had been awful.

He was too proud to ask her for the same thing when he slept fitfully tossing and turning with thoughts of the merry-faced thief, wondering where Ron was, stressing about Ginny and the safety of their other friends, and constantly running over horcrux hiding places. As winter set in and they kept traipsing north, Harry started to realize he was only truly warm with Hermione curled up into his side.

They spent much of their time going over everything they knew, but their limited knowledge and diminishing confidence started to make Harry despair. At first Hermione tried to distract him by encouraging them to practice their nonverbal magic, and then by learning new spells from her portable library. It became clear that Harry’s inability to focus was chronic, so Hermione tried something else to distract them. She proposed a game where they told each other things about themselves they didn’t think the other already knew.

It was surprisingly therapeutic. Despite being close friends for so long, the lack of knowledge they had about each other surprised them, and they ended up in long-winded conversations that had nothing to do with the war and actually left them in giggles more than once. Hermione told Harry that she used to be afraid of snakes and he couldn’t resist teasing her when she admitted that his ability to speak Parseltongue gave her shivers. He told her about his bouts of accidental magic when he lived with the Dursleys and she teased him, in turn, at the thought of all his hair missing but for the fringe.

They kept much of their conversation focused on their childhoods in the Muggle world, mostly to avoid bringing up a certain absent redhead. Harry slowly talked about the rough time he had with the Dursleys, and to his relief, Hermione listened and responded well but didn’t shoot him constant looks of pity. He sympathized with her easily about not fitting in at school – for different reasons – and they discussed stories they’d both read as children. Hermione stopped pushing Harry to read her collection of textbooks after he admitted that he never cared much for reading. Since he spent so much time alone as a child, reading was often the only thing he could do to occupy himself.

It was hard to ignore his chronic worries, but after a few weeks Harry no longer worried she’d leave. They’d practically been through the worst and they were still together. He didn’t care that her hair tickled his arm every night; he savoured their talks, listened to her soft breathing, and thanked Merlin that even when everything else seemed hopeless, he still had Hermione.

*** *** ***

“Filthy blood-traitor! Punish it, Draco!”

Christmas should’ve been full of sweets and presents and Narcissa’s soft smile. He took the pleasant memories and buried them behind his mental wall. _Obey like a house-elf._

“ _Crucio!_ ” 

*** *** ***


	8. Of Capture and Cruciatus

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 8: Of Capture and Cruciatus**

Hermione didn’t bother hiding her irritation at Ron for the abrupt return following his untimely departure. He kept a careful distance, not daring to come too close and set her off. She buried herself in blankets while she slept; Harry no longer seemed comfortable sitting with her in bed now that Ron had returned, and soon she started having nightmares again.

She tossed and turned after waking from the awful dreams surrounded in darkness. She thought of her parents, of Hogwarts, of the Weasleys and whether they were alright … she thought of Harry’s arm around her, and then Ron’s … and she began stressing for all new reasons.

After they settled on the coast, Harry braved the rain to sit outside – Hermione suspected he was in deep thought about the Deathly Hallows – and once again she was failing to get to sleep. Ron noticed her discomfort and tentatively stood from his chair.

“Er– d’you want me to …?” She didn’t speak but shifted sideways to make room for him on the bunk. He sat immediately. “I missed this,” he said gruffly as he slipped his arm around her. She squeezed his hand but said nothing for a little while. She wasn’t angry at him anymore. Their adventure with Xeno Lovegood had allowed some of her frustration and worry to finally abate; she couldn’t imagine Ron leaving again now.

“To be honest Ron, I missed this too, but when you left, I started sleeping with Harry–”

“ _Sleeping_ –?”

Hermione choked out a laugh. “Yes, _sleeping_. I– I kept having nightmares. Harry held my hand or kept his arm around me, and it was the only way I could get to sleep for a while.”

“Oh.” He sounded relieved, not angry, and she relaxed. “Was it … er–”

“He’s like my brother, Ron.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean, does it feel … different …?” he squeezed her a little tighter in the circle of his arm to make his point.

 _I don’t know._ That was the problem.

After a long pause Hermione sat up and looked at him shyly. “Ron, I love you. Truly. But I thought a lot while you were gone and frankly, I’m not sure you and I are … er–”

“The right match?” He was very quiet.

She stared at her hands. “Ron, what is it you want from your ideal partner?” He furrowed his brow but didn’t seem to be able to answer. “I know what I need,” Hermione continued softly. “I need someone who loves me for exactly who I am, who understands my obsession with learning, who will challenge me intellectually, and–”

“That’s not me,” Ron answered gruffly.

“Ron, that’s not–”

“No, Hermione, you’re right. I’m not like you, I’m not bookish and I don’t really care about school that much. I just want to play Quidditch and find a job I don’t hate and … and I dunno. I care about you, but maybe I’m not … maybe it’s not the right time.” They sat silently for a few minutes until she felt Ron’s arm tighten around her shoulder slightly. She knew he was thinking hard, and he would break the silence when he was ready.

“I’ve never had other girls around, y’know? I pretty much only had Ginny. And you know how worried I am, watching her on the Map and trying to believe she’s okay … When I was gone I– I was worried about you, too. Except now I think the only difference is I _really_ don’t wanna kiss Ginny.”

Hermione laughed silently. “We became friends pretty young, Ron, and I don’t think we really cared that we were boy and girl, you know? Not until it … it kind of became an issue.”

Ron shifted uncomfortably next to her. “Wasn’t an issue with Harry,” he mumbled. She shook her head.

“No, because we discussed it. He was concerned that he should’ve asked me to the Yule Ball, and I admitted it would’ve been strange because I think of him like a brother. He told me he felt the same, and we never had to feel awkward after that.”

“But you wanted _me_ to ask you–?” It was her turn to shift uncomfortably.

“I think I fancied you,” she whispered, barely audible. “Because I knew I didn’t like Harry that way and I wasn’t close to any other boys, really.” She suddenly tensed, worried he might be offended. It wasn’t as though she had feelings for him based on proximity alone.

To her surprise, he relaxed. “Yeah,” he said suddenly. “I think I fancied you ‘cause I knew you better than the other girls. You were the only one … you’ve just always been right there, y’know?” His arm tightened around her again.

“I wish I hadn’t left,” he admitted after a moment. “I was … I thought I messed things up and you wouldn’t– I mean, even just being friends–”

“Ron,” she said softly. “If we decide not to be together, I’ll still be here. You can be an annoying prick, and you can argue with me constantly, and you can even run away during horcrux hunts–” he made a noise between a laugh and a snort “–but I love you and Harry. You’re my best friends, and nothing will change that.”

Ron took a breath, then looked into her eyes carefully. He leaned in a little, and she didn’t stop him.

Viktor’s lips had been a little rough, chapped by the wind. The single time Cormac coerced Hermione into a kiss he was wet and forceful, and she felt the urge to rinse out her mouth afterwards. Ron’s lips were soft and hesitant, as if he expected her to pull away. When she didn’t, he leaned in a little closer and held the back of her neck to deepen the kiss. _This is different,_ she thought to herself. It was nice, like the way Harry’s arm felt around her. It was pleasant, comfortable, and reminded her of being safe and protected. _But, romantic?_ She wasn’t sure.

Ron’s face was quite red when he slowly pulled away. The tension was still there, but perhaps a little less. He gave her a sideways smile, bordering on a grin. “Better than Ginny?” she teased. His face scrunched up, but he managed to chortle as she giggled under her breath.

“Better than Lavender,” Ron mumbled through his small grin. Hermione flushed, pleased, and she looked down at her hands.

“Better than Viktor,” she murmured under her breath. She didn’t look at him, but she knew his bright red face was beaming with pride.

*** *** ***

It was delightfully clear that their talk increased Ron’s confidence. He continued sitting next to Hermione as she slept, and Harry simply offered a sideways grin when he noticed. Ron became a new man; he exuded optimism and began taking charge of their situation while Harry spent his time deep in thought and Hermione persistently continued researching.

A week passed, and Ron didn’t try to kiss Hermione again or discuss a different-than-friends relationship. Months ago, in Grimmauld Place, he’d boldly said he wanted to ask her out but didn’t think it was possible to date properly in their current situation. She’d agreed, but the unspoken ledge they walked remained mostly unexplored. Things had finally settled into a more comfortable place.

One night Ron was keeping watch outside the tent as he fiddled with the wireless, and Harry came to talk to Hermione as she settled into bed. “So, you’ve forgiven him?”

She sighed and replied, “Yes, I have. I won’t deny he returned with some useful information.”

“Well, we both know how much you love Ron for his _information_ ,” Harry said innocently, and she huffed.

“I really don’t know, Harry,” she said softly after a little while. “I thought it was different with him, but when you sat with me and helped me sleep–”

“Oh,” he groaned. “I reckon he didn’t like that–”

“No!” she insisted. “He didn’t mind; he knows how I feel about you. But I’ve spent some nights with him like that too, and … well, I suppose I realized there wasn’t much difference, really.”

“Aw, you’ve fallen in love with me, too?” he teased. She grinned.

“I haven’t fully decided yet,” she said simply. Harry didn’t answer, but when she slid under her covers, he stayed next to her with his arm across her pillow and she fell asleep almost immediately.

She’d been asleep for nearly an hour when Ron re-entered the tent. Harry tensed but didn’t want to move suddenly and wake Hermione. Ron glanced down at Hermione’s sleeping form with Harry’s arm stretched protectively above her. Harry subconsciously braced himself for the yelling and wondered if he should’ve moved–

“Can you take over the watch?” Ron murmured quietly. They both knew it was supposed to be Hermione’s turn, but Harry nodded and watched with relief as Ron took his place. His friend’s lightly muscled, freckled arm settled above the bushy head and he gently pushed the hair away from her face, just as Harry had done an hour ago.

*** *** ***

Before the holidays, Draco and Blaise lay awake together wondering whether things could possibly get worse. Hogwarts was barely a school anymore … even the Slytherins were afraid. This wasn’t the world they wanted. When he returned to school after Christmas, Draco couldn’t decide if it was worse at home or at Hogwarts.

When he came home for Easter holidays he broke down and told his parents everything going on at the school. Predictably, Lucius was pleased with the way things were “progressing,” but Narcissa knew of the torture Draco was forced to inflict and she nearly broke into tears as she looked into his empty grey eyes. They spent much of the holiday sitting quietly together, trying to believe that things could be different.

Now Narcissa returned to the drawing room leading several struggling, bound prisoners and a group of Snatchers led by Fenrir Greyback. Draco subtly wrapped his fingers around his wand. Greyback was probably the most terrifying Death Eater next to his aunt, and Draco had the advantage of being able to predict _her_ behaviour.

“They say they’ve got Potter,” Narcissa said reluctantly. Draco held back a shout as he looked properly at the bound prisoners.

 _NO! If they know it’s really him, it’s over …_ Everyone said Potter was the only one who could stop the Dark Lord. Potter was the only one who could fix everything. Draco didn’t like the other boy, but compared to _him_ …

Draco swallowed.

“I can’t – I can’t be sure.”

*** *** ***

Draco feigned ignorance, but Narcissa positively identified Hermione Granger.

Draco kept his perfectly shielded emotions behind a blank face, but his insides felt frozen. Perhaps Narcissa was trying to distract the others from the swollen face of Harry Potter, but it wasn’t going to work. Of course he’d be with Granger; Narcissa didn’t know those three were practically connected by a Permanent Sticking Charm.

The identity of Harry Potter inexplicably fell second in priority to a goblin-made sword in the hands of one of the Snatchers, and his aunt quickly took control of the situation. Draco hated the way Bellatrix ordered him to move Stunned Snatchers as though he were her personal servant, but he hated the way she spoke to Narcissa even more. He fisted his hands and tried to stay calm. Family was _everything_ , but was Bellatrix really family? She cared more for her own skin than she cared for her sister.

Narcissa tried to regain some of the control she should hold in her own home. “Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback.”

“Wait,” said Bellatrix sharply. “All except … except for the Mudblood.”

“No!” shouted Ron. “You can have me, keep me!”

Draco stared at him. He didn’t think Weasley was _that_ thick … a moment later Weasley was the last thing on his mind. His terrifying aunt wore her most chilling expression and her hand was wrapped firmly around Hermione Granger’s neck.

*** *** ***

She was screaming.

Draco stood in front of the fireplace, but he couldn’t feel its warmth at all. From the corner of his eye he saw her legs spasm. _Just watch her hand._ Distantly, as though he were listening from underwater, Draco thought he could hear the other prisoners screaming her name, trying to save her or take her place.

He’d seen this dozens of times now. Death Eaters who failed in their mission, Mudbloods caught on the run, blood traitors who wouldn’t submit to the Dark Lord’s leadership, and even the occasional loyal follower who was in the wrong place at the wrong time while the Dark Lord was in the wrong mood. His own parents, writhing on the floor. People at Draco’s own hand. Students being punished by the Carrows, or even by other students.

Watching torture wasn’t new. But _this_ was new.

Endless hours he’d spent with this witch … they ate meals together, learned magic together, walked the corridors of Hogwarts … He despised her. She was a bossy know-it-all who stubbornly stuck to the hip of the Boy-Who-Wouldn’t-Die-Already. She had _dirty_ blood …

But she was a girl. A teenager just like him. It was _Granger_ , the most stubborn witch he ever met … he remembered watching as she fought her tears to invent some false tale to Dolores Umbridge when Potter was faced with torture. He remembered her sticking faithfully to Potter’s side when even Weasley thought he put his name in the Goblet of Fire. She was clever, loyal, and she would never give in. She wasn’t being briefly tortured as punishment for failing a homework assignment. Bellatrix would torture her until her inexplicably brilliant mind shattered.

 _Focus on her hand._ He buried the notion that he might watch Granger die in his own house.

Draco let out a breath he forgot he was holding when the screams finally ceased. Beside him, he felt his mother’s steady, unmoving presence. She was doing the same as him, Draco knew – she was pretending it wasn’t real. She would be trying to forget it was she who confirmed the girl was a Mudblood.

“Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!”

Draco finally felt his feet unstick from the floor. He scrambled to the door to get away from her.

He wasn’t entirely sure which _her_ he was running from.

*** *** ***

“Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!”

Draco tried to keep his voice steady, but he was shaking as though he’d just been tortured himself. Would one of them run at him, trying to get his wand? He desperately hoped they would be smart and stay put … he didn’t want to be forced to make things worse.

He let the cellar door fly open, so it bounced off the wall loudly. He knew his father was listening from the top of the stairs. Thankfully, the prisoners seemed to be still. Draco squinted through the darkness and found the goblin quickly thanks to his short stature. He seized its arm.

For one instant, his eyes darted up to the back wall. In the shadows he could see tall, gangly Weasley and the shorter boy he knew to be Potter. He fought back a jolt of surprise that they’d obeyed him. His gaze found Potter’s; the green eyes reflected a tiny bit of light from the corridor.

Potter wasn’t looking at Draco with fear, or even anger. He was _pleading_.

Potter knew Draco hadn’t identified them. He thought there was a chance Draco might help.

*** *** ***

After Wormtail was sent downstairs, Draco did not expect Weasley and Potter to suddenly burst into the drawing room. He jumped in surprise and when his father went down Stunned, Draco shot a Stunning Spell back at Potter, missing by a fraction. Beside him, he felt his mother do the same.

Bellatrix was Disarmed but Potter didn’t know she was carrying her knife. And Greyback – despite being an adequate spell-caster at best – was still armed … Draco carefully considered how good Potter’s options for escape were.

“STOP OR SHE DIES!”

They all froze.

The knife began to cut Hermione’s throat. She’d been unconscious, but the sharp pain woke her.

*** *** ***

Hermione had never been in so much pain. She didn’t understand how she was vertical, until she realized a pair of cold arms were holding her up. Warm blood trickled from the stinging knife wound on her neck.

“I said, drop them!”

“All right!”

_Harry, no!_

Hermione heard Malfoy scrambling for the wands. _Is there a chance, even a tiny chance, that Malfoy would help? He didn’t identify us … he doesn’t want this, either … What’s that noise?_

Bellatrix dropped Hermione and moved with a shriek as the chandelier crashed to the floor.

Hermione had no chance to defend herself; her legs gave out immediately and she barely had the energy to protect her eyes as the massive object smashed beside her. Tiny shards of crystal flew in every direction. She felt them pepper her arms with sharp stings that barely registered compared to the residual pain of the Cruciatus Curse.

*** *** ***

Draco closed his eyes quickly but felt the crystal shards bouncing off his face, and he let out a frustrated cry of pain. He couldn’t hear the goings-on around him; when he could finally open his eyes, he saw several things in an instant.

Weasley and Granger had been knocked down by the chandelier, but Potter barely dodged it. Potter was now moving towards Draco, and he had the same look of desperation, _pleading_ , in his eyes that he was trying to hide from Bellatrix. In the corner of his eye, Draco saw Greyback skirting around the furniture; could he get to Potter before Potter got to Draco?

Draco extended his hand – gripping three wands – in Potter’s direction, as if to cast a curse. He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. Their eyes met for a split second, and Draco loosened his grip by a fraction. He didn’t know if anybody noticed, but all that mattered was the wands were no longer in Draco’s hand.

_Get out of here, Potter. Fix this._

*** *** ***

Narcissa was behind Draco; he didn’t know if she saw him relinquish the wands, and he didn’t care. She yanked him back, out of the way of Greyback’s Stunned body which Potter had just thrown across the room.

Narcissa and Draco suddenly noticed the elf that appeared out of nowhere and Narcissa gasped from shock.

“Dobby!” Narcissa screamed, “You! _You_ dropped the chandelier–?” House-elves could not disobey … their magic was constantly tethered to their masters. Even if Dobby no longer belonged to Lucius, he should not be able to use his own magic as he liked …

“Kill him, Cissy!” shrieked Bellatrix.

Draco didn’t know what she would’ve done; Dobby suddenly made Narcissa’s wand fly across the room before she could move. While Bellatrix screamed at the elf, Draco watched Potter pull the dizzy Weasley from the wreckage of the chandelier, but Granger was across the wreckage from them and it looked like she might’ve been knocked out again.

 _If they don’t get her out, Bellatrix is giving her to Greyback …_ the thought made Draco’s stomach lurch. Hard as it was to watch her under Bellatrix’s wand, the idea of the girl being torn apart by Greyback was sickening. Not even Granger deserved that fate. Draco clutched his hand into a fist and wished for the very first time that he was a Gryffindor.

“Ron, catch – and GO!”

Potter had the goblin in one hand, and he seized the house-elf’s hand with the other. Weasley caught one of the wands as he struggled to get to Granger; he seemed to be limping. There was a sudden _crack!_ and Bellatrix screamed with fury as Harry Potter vanished into thin air.

But it wasn’t over. Her evil eyes tracked sideways to the bloody, bushy-haired girl feebly struggling to free herself from the pile of broken crystal. Weasley desperately jumped to reach her–

Bellatrix was closer. She bent to seize Granger’s ankle and yanked her free of the debris and away from Weasley’s grasp, who roared in fury and raised the pilfered wand.

Bellatrix pulled her prisoner up by her hair and pressed her knife against Hermione’s throat once more. “Bring Potter back or SHE DIES!”

*** *** ***

Hermione felt her leg being pulled … then the sharp tip of the ice-cold knife was back at her throat. Her arms hung limply; she couldn’t fight. She barely had enough residual strength to open her eyes, but she managed somehow.

Ron’s expression was terrified as he was forced to lower the wand. Hermione had heard the crack of Disapparation, and she knew Harry was safe. Now, Ron …

The _crack!_ resounded again. Dobby rematerialized and grabbed Ron’s hand. The elf looked at Hermione, at Bellatrix … at the knife …

_It’s too late._

“GO!” she screamed.

*** *** ***


	9. Of Pain and Plotting

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 9: Of Pain and Plotting**

“ _NO!_ ”

Ron’s desperate yell cut into Hermione like a glass shard as he tried to reach for her, but the sharp pain at her throat increased and Hermione cried out as her eyes connected to Dobby’s.

It was only an instant, a horrible instant … the poor elf was forced to make a terrible choice. Hermione was too far. Bellatrix’s grip was unbreakable … the knife was cutting … she was bleeding. She was barely conscious.

 _Save him,_ she silently pleaded, and the elf’s sad eyes said that he understood. In one burst of cleverness – Hermione tried not to think that it might be the last thing she ever did – she looked meaningfully from Dobby’s eyes down to her foot and shook her ankle, where a bulky lump was clearly visible under her sock. Bellatrix was too busy screaming at Ron and the elf to notice, but Dobby understood. With a click of his fingers, her beaded bag zoomed into the little hand that was not holding Ron’s.

Dobby’s large eyes suddenly went wide in fear. With a _crack_ that seemed to reach Hermione’s ears in slow motion, Dobby and her best friend vanished into nothing wearing twin expressions of horror.

A flash of silver caught the candlelight, and she realized with a pang that Bellatrix had thrown her knife.

And it vanished with them.

*** *** ***

The scream that came from Bellatrix’s throat was a high, ululating terror.

Draco held onto the wall as Bellatrix began tearing around the room, smashing everything she could reach and kicking the furniture in fury.

Narcissa noiselessly crossed the room and retrieved her wand, which she used to revive Lucius, though she left Greyback Stunned. She murmured to her husband what happened, and Lucius remained collapsed against the wall, hissing curses under his breath.

Draco’s eyes were frozen on the crumpled, bleeding girl who had been left behind.

Only after Bellatrix destroyed everything within reach did she remember Hermione was still there. She seized the weak girl by the hair and pulled her head backward; Draco was surprised not to hear her neck snap. “WHERE ARE THEY?!”

Draco heard a tiny sob from Hermione’s throat, and she went limp. Bellatrix threw the girl down with an agonizing shriek. She pulled her hair and wailed; she’d already called the Dark Lord, and they lost Potter _again._

Dumbledore’s blue eyes inexplicably swam into Draco’s mind. He’d been too late … he wanted to accept Dumbledore’s offer, but he waited too long. The pale girl in front of him was no Dumbledore, but she represented everything Dumbledore tried to offer. Protection, redemption … Her friends tried to _trade_ themselves for her. The idea of the Death Eaters trying to do that for each other was laughable. There had been only a shred of hope that Potter would escape … could there be another shred that Potter would win? Then what? If he could keep Granger alive, would she advocate for his family? She was a pesky swot, but she wasn’t heartless …

Wand and knife gone; Bellatrix stooped to seize a broken shard of the crystal chandelier. She returned to the fallen girl and flipped her over, preparing to thrust the shard into her skin.

Draco could hardly believe his overwhelming urge to intervene. He hated her … _Granger_ … the girl who beat him at everything, the girl who didn’t deserve magic at all, who belittled him and protected his enemy. The _Mudblood_ … Why would he care about her, when barely a thread of hope remained? Yes, he let Potter take the wands, but nobody had noticed. If he saved Granger, there was no going back. He’d be a traitor.

Unless …

“W– Wait,”

Bellatrix stared in disbelief and so did Lucius. Draco’s head was spinning but he felt surprisingly reassured. He’d spoken; he made his decision. There would be no reasoning with _her_ … what about him?

“Father … torturing her won’t be any use.”

In two steps Lucius had his son by the collar. “ _We lost Potter!_ The Dark Lord will kill us all unless we find out where he is!”

“She– she won’t talk, Father. She said nothing under torture; if you try again now her mind will break, and she’ll be useless.”

“This is a worthless _Mudblood!_ ” Bellatrix squealed in fury. “I want to kill it!”

“No,” Lucius hissed sharply. “She was with Potter; we need her to _talk_.” Lucius straightened up. “We must find out where Potter is. Then the Dark Lord will have mercy.” Draco stiffened his spine. The Dark Lord didn’t believe in the word _mercy_ , but his father still blindly believed?

 _I need to be better than him_ , he reminded himself.

Lucius spoke sharply to his son. “Take her back to the cellar and when she awakes, we begin again. The Dark Lord will understand.”

“Father …” he began.

“ _You dare to defy me now?!_ ”

It didn’t matter that Draco was a bit taller than his father; despite being unshaven, rumpled, and wandless, Lucius always had a way of towering over his son, the epitome of intimidation.

“No, sir.” Draco swallowed carefully. “But I … I have a suggestion.” Narcissa gently put her hand on her husband’s elbow. Nobody else could make him halt like that. Though Lucius was her husband, Draco drew comfort knowing she would support him over his father.

Lucius backed down slightly, but the piercing fury in his eyes did not fade. Draco knew he had to choose his words carefully.

“I … I know this girl. She’s the most stubborn creature I’ve ever met. We could torture her to _death_ , and she won’t talk.” Lucius huffed angrily. Draco slowly continued, “I think … I can get through to her. Gryffindors are– are predictable. They’ll sacrifice themselves for no reason at all, but they’ll never let someone else take torture for them. You heard them before,” Draco gestured in the general direction of the cellar. “The fools _wanted_ to trade for her, and she’ll do the same thing. She’s got friends at Hogwarts, and I’ll threaten to go after them next unless she cooperates with me.” Lucius narrowed his brow ever so slightly.

“ _You_ want to take responsibility for the filth?” Bellatrix cried out. She started coming at him and Draco didn’t pause to think; he worked harder than ever to turn his face into stone like Severus. He faced his terrifying aunt with all the emotion of a suit of armor, turning her own lessons of Occlumency against her. He’d become stronger with Severus’ help this year, but Bellatrix didn’t know that; she thought she knew all his tricks.

She searched his face desperately, digging for a reasonable explanation. Draco deliberately avoided looking at the still-crumpled figure of Greyback in the corner. He had no desire to watch Granger be given to that monster.

“Bella,” his usually quiet mother was surprisingly firm. “Allow my son this chance to redeem himself. He is cunning after all, and you know what those – those Order people are like. She will believe she can convert Draco. They have history as schoolmates … he can manipulate her in a way we cannot.”

“I want to be the one to make her talk,” Draco said as calmly as he was capable. He let his lips curl upwards in a smirk. The girl was his school rival, he allowed Bellatrix to see his desire to have revenge on her.

Bellatrix continued studying her nephew but then broke into a sneer. She took three steps back towards Hermione and pulled her hair up so Draco could see her unconscious face.

“She’s _pretty_ , isn’t she, Draco?” Bellatrix leered. “Don’t you think so? Do you want the helpless, pretty girl all to yourself? Are you going to charm her? Are you gonna poke her and make her _squeal?_ ”

Draco’s stomach gave a horrible lurch, but he folded his arms and curled his face into a sneer to rival hers. He allowed his mind to travel back to when his Malfoy-driven superiority ruled Hogwarts, and he wanted nothing more than to get Granger and Potter expelled. “That filthy Mudblood hexed me and beat me in all my exams, and I want to _destroy_ her. If the useless bitch knows anything, I’m gonna worm it out of her head, and when we no longer need her, I’ll make her _scream_.”

Bellatrix’s lips broke into that horrible grin that showed all her teeth, and he knew he’d passed her test. A hand clapped on his shoulder and he turned to face his father, who looked _proud._ It wasn’t long ago that Draco would have done anything to have Lucius look at him like that, and now …

“Very well, Draco, the Mudblood is your responsibility.” Lucius leaned closer and hissed in his ear. “If you fail again, _everything_ is lost.”

_I won’t fail twice. I’ll be better than you._

*** *** ***

Hermione came to about halfway up a grand staircase. She exhaled sharply and squirmed when she realized she was being carried, and nearly screamed in shock when she realized she was in _Malfoy’s_ arms.

He tightened his hold on her before she squirmed free. She stared at him, open-mouthed, and he quickly pushed his lips together, furrowed his brow, and shook his head at her by a fraction. She got the message and consented to stay silent.

After the shock of being carried by her Slytherin nemesis trickled out of her system, Hermione’s fast-working brain started conjuring questions with the speed of a Snitch’s wings. _Where did they go? Did they manage to grab the sword? Where did Dobby come from? Could he come back for me? Did that knife hit … could Ron be injured …?!_

She searched her mind for possible answers, desperate to appease her anxiety, but her exhausted brain was depleted beyond anything she’d experienced. Perhaps she should be concerned about what Malfoy was doing with her, or about why she wasn’t chained up in some dungeon, but she found herself inherently disinterested in her own fate. She was collateral damage, and she’d already accepted it. She let them torture her and she hadn’t broken.

It didn’t matter what happened to her now … because Harry and Ron got away.

*** *** ***

It was dusk. Harry knelt on a sandy expanse not far from a little cottage. Bill Weasley was coming down the beach; Dean and Luna probably filled him in, because Bill wasn’t surprised to see Harry or Griphook. He spoke to Griphook in Gobbledegook and the goblin allowed Bill to carry him and the sword to the cottage.

Harry remained focused on the place Dobby had vanished as the agonizing seconds ticked by. The worst thing that could possibly happen was that the elf wouldn’t return.

_Crack!_

Harry was wrong.

The worst thing that could possibly happen was Dobby returning with only _one_ of his friends. The two wizards shared a look of utter horror that spoke ten thousand words.

Perhaps with the intention of begging Dobby to return for Hermione, Harry’s eyes darted down. He thought nothing could possibly make the situation worse … but the image of Dobby’s little body covered in blood with a silver-handled knife protruding from his chest did the trick.

“Harry … Potter.”

He didn’t feel himself rushing forward, but Harry managed to catch the little elf in his arms before he collapsed. For a last moment he stared desperately at the knife, but there was nothing that could be done. With a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.

*** *** ***

The third-floor corridor of the Manor was quite long, possibly the length of Hogwarts’ Great Hall. Draco remembered flying up and down the corridor at eight or nine years old practicing tricks when it was too cold to fly on the grounds.

Although his head was practically prepared to explode from newfound stress, he spared a grateful thought that Granger was so light in his arms. He noticed how thin she was and figured it was a while since she’d eaten a decent meal. Normally he’d be much skinnier himself, but Blaise still vigilantly ensured Draco ate three square meals a day even when his friend forgot to feed himself.

The silent pair reached Draco’s bedroom door, unique among the soft umber of the other doors in the corridor. After Draco’s first year at Hogwarts, Lucius proudly commissioned the door to be repainted green with the Slytherin crest. Draco laid a finger on the crest and the door swung open as its enchantment recognized him as the proper master of the chamber.

Not for the first time, he was extremely grateful that Lucius enlisted Snape to cast protection spells on certain rooms so the Malfoys could always find privacy from the invaders. Nobody else could open Draco’s bedroom door, not even his father.

*** *** ***

Hermione held back a cringe when she realized her enemy had taken her into his bedroom of all places.

_Is he still my enemy? He knew us … but he didn’t say so._

Draco quietly kicked the door shut. He carried her across the room, giving Hermione a quick moment to glance around half in interest and half in anticipation of possible escape routes.

The room was spacious and tastefully furnished. The mahogany furniture was carved with elegant spirals and scrolls, and the upholstery and curtains were royal blue – Hermione was a bit surprised not to see Slytherin colours everywhere. A large four-poster bed stood opposite a large fireplace, which sprung to life with a cheerful fire as they entered the room. Two cozy armchairs flanked the fireplace, and the wall that shared the bedroom door was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves equipped with an eight-foot rolling ladder. Any other day, Hermione would be impressed.

The gentle slope of the ceiling gave the room an airy feel, and a large bay window leading to a terrace offered a wide view of the manor grounds, though currently hidden in the dark. The door to the adjacent bathroom was wide enough that Draco didn’t need to turn to get them both through it. Another window faced a sparkling white bathtub big enough for eight people, and opposite the door was a shower with green-frosted glass doors. Draco turned to the left and set Hermione on a granite countertop flecked with silver.

She finally became aware of her stiff muscles after he released her, and she let out a soft cry of surprise. He hadn’t met her eyes since the stairs, but now they flickered to her momentarily.

“You’re coming out of shock,” he said quietly. He retrieved a soft white towel from under the sink and briefly dampened it with warm water. She watched him, still in too much shock to move away when he reached for her arm to wipe away residual bloodstains.

She forgot how to breathe for a moment as she processed the sight. Her childhood bully, a boy she hadn’t seen in nearly a year, was gently wiping dried blood – _my dirty blood_ – off her arms. He rinsed the towel and turned back, both hands reaching for her face this time.

She was a little surprised that her exhausted muscles allowed her to raise her arms instinctively to block him before she even realized what was happening. He must’ve been equally surprised; he dropped the damp towel onto her lap.

“I … it’s OK,” he said slowly. He left the towel with her and bent to retrieve a second. He dampened it and cleaned some blood from his own face; Hermione didn’t realize until now that he was also hit by the broken chandelier. Small cuts dotted his cheeks and hands.

Hermione slowly picked up the towel from her lap. Draco turned and crossed the bathroom to rummage in a cupboard.

 _Why on earth is he helping me? Is this a trick?_ She turned halfway round so she could see her face in the mirror behind her and nearly fainted. Her hair had never been exactly tame, but it looked as though she’d run through a car wash. Her face and neck were sticky with drying blood from the silver-handled knife and airborne crystal shards. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles and dried tears crusted her colourless hollow cheeks.

Though her appearance was a low priority, Hermione felt obligated to take advantage of the soft towel. She cleaned the blood from her skin and combed her hair with her fingers until it no longer resembled a gorse bush. She spared a glance toward the blond, who was now squatting in front of a low cupboard that seemed to be full of differently coloured vials. A wizarding medicine cabinet?

Driven by the realization that he wasn’t between her and the door, she slowly slid from the countertop with the intention to slip away. Unfortunately, her knees gave out as soon as her feet touched the floor. She gasped as her exhausted legs struggled to hold her body weight.

She didn’t expect him to react, but as soon as Draco heard her gasp, he was suddenly back at her side catching her in arms. “Don’t try that again. You won’t be able to stand for a while, trust me.” He was _almost_ sneering, she noticed. She managed a nod in response, and he slid an arm under her legs to lift her back to the counter before turning away quickly.

She watched him return to the cupboard and then leaned down to the sink to splash some chilly water on her face and neck. She dried off with a portion of the towel that wasn’t stained with her blood. Though the stinging against her throat had been painful, the cuts weren’t as deep as she feared, and they were no longer dripping blood. Draco returned with three bottles in his hand.

Hermione watched his slightly overgrown hair sweep across his forehead as he turned to face her, not quite meeting her eyes. “How bad is the pain?” She opened her mouth but wasn’t sure how to answer. Instinctively, she expected she was still in shock, because although she’d never felt such stiffness in her arms and legs, there wasn’t much pain.

“I’m not sure, exactly.”

He held out a small green vial. “Muscle Strengthening Potion. In a while you might be able to actually stand on your own feet.” He almost snickered; Hermione noticed and relaxed a bit. If he could act like himself, even a little, he couldn’t be much of a threat. The normal Malfoy was predictable.

She accepted the vial, but she wasn’t the brightest witch of her age for nothing. She unstoppered it and allowed the smell of the potion to waft towards her. She hadn’t made this brew since fifth year and in her recovering state she couldn’t recall its correct colour, but the potion gave off the minty scent she expected. She boldly swallowed it and handed back the empty bottle.

A sudden rapping on the bedroom door made them jump. Draco dropped the empty vial which shattered in the sink. He cursed under his breath and looked up at Hermione sharply. “ _Don’t_ move.”

He slipped past the bathroom door and sneered loudly without looking at her, “Clean yourself up properly, Granger. I don’t want any of that _filthy blood_ staining my rug.” He proceeded to slam the bathroom door as hard as possible.

Hermione frowned to herself. She hadn’t expected that.

She could just make out his light steps padding towards the bedroom door. Muffled voices began to exchange words and Hermione’s curiosity outweighed her fear. Malfoy might not be an immediate threat, but the unknown visitor almost certainly was. She held tightly to the edge of the counter and gingerly rested her feet on the floor. Supporting herself as much as possible, she slid towards the door and managed to open it silently by a crack.

“… you sure you know what to do? I know you don’t want to harm the girl.”

“No, I won’t hurt her. She’s smart. I can get her to cooperate.”

“I’m worried for you, Draco. You must be careful to keep your mind safe–”

“… do that, Mother. Besides, it’s only a few more days.”

“–should take this and try not to leave her alone.”

“I won’t … are you sure?”

“You need it more …”

The door snapped shut and Hermione’s tired legs finally gave out. She slipped down to the soft rug in front of the sink and wondered what her odd schoolmate was planning.

*** *** ***

Harry blankly stared forward. He was dimly aware that he was kneeling on sand, and the smells and noises around him seemed to be consistent with a beach. He’d never been to a beach before, really, since the Dursleys wouldn’t dream of taking him on vacation. It was quite nice.

He didn’t care.

Dobby was gone. The broken little body of the elf was still in his arms, and Ron had collapsed to his knees next to Harry. He’d said nothing because there was nothing that could be said. No words could fix anything now.

 _Hermione._ The girl who gave up her family for him, who saved his life in Godric’s Hollow. The girl who followed him unquestioningly into danger after danger. The girl he loved closer than a sister because they were bound by choice, not blood … _Gone._ And even if he dared to hope she was still alive, any chance of saving her died with Dobby.

Harry couldn’t bear hearing her screams drift through the echoing stone chambers of Malfoy Manor; he’d been tortured before but the pain of hearing her in his place was far worse. He’d have taken every curse for her, _anything_ to make her pain stop. The pain he might’ve faced was nothing compared to this.

Harry thought he couldn’t possibly break any more. He felt like Voldemort had already won.

*** *** ***


	10. Of Tea and Threats

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 10: Of Tea and Threats**

Draco fingered his mother’s wand gently, knowing how hard it was for her to surrender it. Both his parents were now defenceless if he should fail with Granger, and the Dark Lord was still on his way. He plunged the wand into his deepest pocket and thought gratefully that he and Granger were as safe as they could be in this room.

It was a good thing he hadn’t seen Granger in almost a year; his instinct to insult her diminished enough that he could _try_ to treat her like an ally. The problem was whether she would believe he was being genuine.

He gritted his teeth wondering if this plan would last longer than a day. She needed to trust him … so, he couldn’t harm her, but he also couldn’t openly defend her in front of Death Eaters because they had to believe he was coercing information from her. If there was even the tiniest chance that he could get her to the Order, back to Potter, she might just convince them that the Malfoys were worth protecting. He’d probably never like the witch, but he needed her.

Severus had been an undercover agent in Dumbledore’s ranks for years … Draco could surely manage a few days. He was a Slytherin after all.

He picked up the tray Narcissa brought and carried it to the polished mahogany table by the fire. From the corner of his eye he noticed the bathroom door was open a crack. _Shouldn’t put it past her not to eavesdrop._

He sighed and went to face her but was astonished to see her on the floor.

“Bloody hell Granger, I _said_ you can’t walk yet.” She opened her mouth to speak but he’d already scooped her into his arms. He carried her out to the fireplace and dropped her unceremoniously into an armchair. He huffed in annoyance and returned to the bathroom counter to retrieve the remaining two potions. _I hope she bloody appreciates this._

He didn’t want to look at Granger directly – he had no clue if she picked up any Legilimency while on the run with the Chosen One – but he was distracted when he realized she was shaking and clutching the arm of the chair so tightly her fingernails were dangerously close to cutting through the leather. “What’s the problem?”

She couldn’t answer. Her eyes were shut tight and she was biting her lower lip so hard a drop of blood began to trail down her chin.

 _Oh … the shock wore off._ Draco knew all too well that sharp, involuntary muscle contractions were a common side effect of being under the Cruciatus Curse for a long time, mimicking the pain of the curse all over again. He seized one of the potion bottles and unstoppered it. She opened her eyes long enough to see him hold out the bottle but shrank back into the chair a little and shook her head.

“This'll help,” he insisted. She shook her head again and looked at him pointedly. She didn’t trust him, and she didn’t recognize this potion.

Draco huffed, “Fine, Granger. I don’t need to take the pain away, you know. You’re welcome to sit there shaking. The effects of the curse should wear off in three or four hours; I’ve nowhere to go.” He sauntered to the other armchair and crossed his legs comfortably, gazing into the fire as if it were giving a mildly interesting lecture.

Hermione felt as though her heart was pumping cursed blood through her veins and burning her from the inside out, but she managed to squeak, “What is it?”

He continued watching the flames. “Snape developed it to counteract the Torture Curse. It numbs your nerves against muscle pain without completely shutting down your ability to feel.” She didn’t speak again, but he saw her nod carefully. She probably realized that if he intended to poison her, he wouldn’t bother cleaning her up first.

He stood and held the bottle out. She was able to extract her fingernails from the armchair long enough to grasp it from his outstretched hand and bring it to her lips, only spilling a tiny bit. She thought it smelled like apples, but its taste was much sharper, like vinegar.

After a moment Hermione felt the potion taking effect. Gentle warmth spread to her fingers and toes and her muscles seemed to breathe collective sighs of relief. She allowed her head to fall back against the soft leather of her chair. Draco flopped back into his seat with a dramatic sigh and draped his legs over the side facing the fire. “You’re such a pain, Granger.”

“ _There’s_ the Draco Malfoy I know,” she said quietly. He smirked at the fireplace but didn’t answer.

A few moments passed in which Hermione took some deep breaths to encourage her brain to resume its normal functions. She was still more sad, confused, and frustrated than she’d ever been in her life but catching a glimpse of Malfoy’s old self was surprisingly reassuring. If she squinted, she might be able to see the teenaged prick who didn’t frighten her like the Death Eaters.

Draco swung his legs to the floor and reached for the silver tray on the table between them, full of tea and sandwiches. He placed a cup on Hermione’s side of the table without looking at her. “Eat something, Granger. You’re no use to anybody if you pass out again.” He collected a sandwich for himself and resumed his comfortable lounging position in the chair.

Hermione watched him chew his sandwich for a moment and tentatively reached for one herself, but she wouldn’t touch the tea. Perhaps he wouldn’t hurt her, but he was probably after information. Veritaserum was odorless, undetectable, and she would take no chances. She suppressed a satisfied groan as she took a bite of what might be the best food she’d tasted in months.

Swallowing was difficult, but Snape’s potion seemed to allow her previously churning stomach to relax and she quickly reached for a second sandwich. Draco eyed her movements carefully. He knew from experience if she ate too fast without drinking anything, she’d get sick in her post-torture state. He nudged the teacup closer as a hint. She narrowed her eyes at him a little.

“I … don’t–” Draco rolled his eyes and reached for her cup. He stared at her pointedly while taking a sip of the tea and then returning it to the saucer. She visibly relaxed.

“You’re going to have to trust me if this is gonna work,” he said as she reached for the cup.

“You’re going to have to tell me exactly what _this_ is, Malfoy. I’m not in the habit of trusting you.”

“Well you’ve really no choice, do you?” His lips broke into a familiar sneer. “You’re welcome to sit still and keep your mouth shut and wait out this war, but nobody can get in here to save you, and you can’t get out of this room without my permission, Granger, so you’re stuck.”

“I know Harry took your wand, which means you have no magical advantage over me, Malfoy,” she challenged.

Draco raised an eyebrow. She had amazing comprehension despite having been in a post-torture state under a broken chandelier while surrounded by enemies. He was duly impressed, but his long-standing desire to prove her wrong demanded he reach into his pocket and hold up his mother’s wand for her viewing pleasure. She shifted in her seat a bit, but she kept her chin pointed at him.

“What do you want from me, exactly? I rather doubt you’re offering me food and potions to try and make me like you.”

Draco snorted derisively. “I’m not deluded enough to think you’d willingly jump into my arms and expect me to be your hero,” he answered plainly. “I could be having this stimulating conversation with you in the cellar, but I reckoned it would be easier to convince you to do the right thing if you weren’t starving and bleeding on the floor.”

“I’ve _always_ done the right thing Malfoy, it’s you I’m unsure about,” she said, and he snorted again.

“Depends where you stand, Granger. You probably like to think your ideals are perfect and magic is all Light Side or Dark Side, because that’s how Hogwarts teaches it. You probably think the right thing is keeping quiet, so your boy toys stay safe. And if we kill you, you’ll be a willing martyr and you’ll die happy because you did the _right thing_.” He took a sip of his own tea, looking down at her arrogantly.

“No.” She shot back.

He gave a mock gasp. “So, you’re scared to die after all?”

“That’s not what I meant, Malfoy.” Draco took a long drink of tea and tried to stare her down. She was equally stubborn and didn’t turn her gaze away. It was one of the reasons he didn’t like her; he wasn’t used to being challenged. Especially by girls.

“I’m fully aware of the grey areas between Light and Dark magic. I’m no blind follower; it doesn’t matter how Hogwarts wanted me to think. I’ve read books they probably didn’t want me to. I break rules when they supersede what’s truly important. I research magic to find my _own_ truth. In fact, I disagree with the way Hogwarts tries to separate Light from Dark without explaining the difference.

“People think Dark magic is all about Unforgivable Curses and gaining power and hurting people, but it’s _never_ that simple. It’s the exact same in the Muggle world. Anyone with power can be a catalyst for positive change, but they could also ruin the world by misusing their power. It’s no different with magic: I could use a simple _Diffindo_ to release the bonds of an innocent victim, or I could use the exact same spell to cut someone’s throat and watch them bleed to death. Magic isn’t light or dark; the people who _wield_ it are light or dark.”

Hermione finished with a dramatic flourish as she did with all her lectures and was pleased that he had no retort. _I win this round, Malfoy._ She reached for her teacup again and drained it, staring him down. This time, he broke his gaze first.

“Alright, know-it-all, you think you’re so clever. Reckon you got me all figured out?”

“Perhaps.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You want something from me,” she said quietly.

“Do I now?”

“Clearly you’re not interested in torturing me any further, or you wouldn’t bother with all this,” she began, gesturing to the table of tea, food, and potions. “Given that you only showed me that wand to prove a point, I gather you don’t intend to use it. You want me to know you hold the upper hand here, even though you’re not threatening me right now.” He raised an eyebrow as she comfortably went on.

“I’ve also figured out that since your drama with the bathroom door was clearly staged you didn’t know it was your mother listening – you trust her, but you don’t want anybody else getting the wrong idea about why you brought me up here instead of leaving me _starving and bleeding on the floor_ , as you so eloquently put it,” she paused for a breath, mildly surprised he was still listening to her. The old Malfoy would’ve pushed her into a wall by now to shut her up.

“I’ll wager you didn’t save me from further torture because you thought it was the _right thing_. Rather, you’ve an ulterior motive for wanting me to yourself right now, so you want something from me. Something that differs from the rest of them.” Hermione had to stop talking to refill her tea. Her throat was raw from screaming earlier and the potions she drank didn’t help the stinging wounds around her neck, but she didn’t allude that to him.

Draco drained his tea thoughtfully. She was too clever for her own good and she’d probably notice if he tried to lie. He had to tell her the truth, without telling her the _whole_ truth.

Hermione waited patiently. If he were anything like Ron, he wouldn’t like sitting in silence for too long.

After a moment he reached over to push the plate of sandwiches at her. It was hard to shake the role of well-trained pure-blood host in his house. “You eat, and I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” he bargained. She reached for another sandwich obediently and waited, trying to stay focused on him and not the thought of her misplaced friends.

Draco swung his legs to the floor and started pacing, running his hands through his white-blond hair. “Aunt Bella wanted to kill you, and my father wanted to keep torturing you and make you tell where Potter got off to. I convinced Father that torturing you more wouldn’t accomplish anything except drive you mad. Then I offered to take over.” Hermione had been watching him pace and now she raised her eyebrows at him.

“Not take over the _torture_ ,” he rolled his eyes. “I’ve known you for bloody _years_ and you’re strong enough to hold onto your loyalty even under torture. Clearly. Most Death Eaters couldn’t do it,” he spoke offhandedly, but Hermione felt her cheeks heat a little from the unintentional compliment. “I convinced my father I’d find another way to threaten you into talking, but I reckon I don’t _need_ to threaten you. You’re not stupid, Granger, you just need to give me some information about Potter, and I’ll convince them I forced it out of you.”

She sat very still. _He doesn’t want to hurt me … just like he didn’t want to kill Dumbledore._

“If it goes well,” Draco finished, “I reckon they’ll be pleased with me. They’ll let me keep an eye on you and I won’t send you back to my aunt and her silver knife collection. Win-win.” Hermione gulped but managed to keep her sandwiches and tea in her stomach.

“I won’t say anything,” she said bravely. “It’s not worth it, just to save myself.”

He marched over to Hermione’s chair and gripped the armrests. He exhaled sharply and she felt his hot breath on her nose as he glared. “You’re supposed to be clever, but you’re such a bloody _Gryffindor!_ We both know you’re the brains behind Potter’s whole operation, d’you think they’ll manage anything with you dead? Would it be _worth it_ , Granger? You want to die for _nothing?”_

Tears formed in her eyes, but she faced down her blond rival and refused to let them fall. “It’s not nothing if I can protect them by remaining silent.”

Draco growled angrily and started pacing again, pulling on his hair. He hated losing control at all; how was it so easy for her to get under his skin? Her sodding Gryffindor pride was going to get them both killed, and he needed her alive.

“Malfoy … I don’t get it. Why do you care if they hurt me or not?” His steps froze on the pale grey floor.

“I _don’t_ care.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He punched the armchair he’d been sitting in. He didn’t want to admit that he hoped she’d save _him_. She needed to make that decision on her own.

“If I don’t get anything out of you, Granger, you go right back to the Death Eaters and they’ll know I failed again,” he muttered. “And I got sick of listening to you scream.” He didn’t see her tiny smile. He really wasn’t as horrible as he liked to pretend.

Her silence was agonizing. He tolerated several minutes of pacing before finally reaching his ultimatum. “Here’s my deal, Granger. Do what I tell you, answer my questions, and I’ll let you stay here and eat food and drink healing potions and not bleed on the cellar floor. Refuse, and I’m sending you back downstairs _now_. If we eff this up, it’s both our necks on the line and I’m _not_ sacrificing myself for you.”

She considered her rival carefully. She internally debated whether it would be difficult to provide Malfoy with bare but useful information without revealing anything that might endanger her friends. If he kept her alive for now, she dared to hope she could get out of here somehow and find her way back to them. If she trusted Malfoy a little, perhaps he might trust her. He’d be a tough nut to crack, but he was no cold-blooded monster like his aunt.

“I have a concern,” she said carefully. “I’m familiar with Vol– _his_ tendency to read minds. What if he realizes you’re lying and not actually torturing me?”

“I’m fairly skilled at Occlumency,” Draco answered. “It’s the one useful thing I learned from my aunt. Snape also helped me; he can’t break into my mind now, and neither can the Dark Lord, so long as I’m cautious about what I say. He didn’t kill me for not killing Dumbledore, after all,” he muttered this last to himself.

Before she could overthink and talk herself out of it, Hermione summoned every remnant of her Gryffindor courage and rose onto her finally steady legs. _Between Malfoy and Bellatrix, I’ll take Malfoy._ She wordlessly held her hand out to her nemesis. He looked at it for a moment, with only a hint of surprise, and shook it.

*** *** ***

Ron was a statue, but for the tiny movements of his chest that told Harry he was still breathing. They remained frozen, collapsed on their knees in the sand.

Luna carefully helped Harry release his hold on Dobby. She laid the elf down gently in the sand and closed his eyes. Hermione’s beaded bag had fallen from Dobby’s grip. After a few moments of just staring at it, Ron picked it up and held it very tightly.

Bill emerged from the cottage and tried to help his brother to his feet, but after glancing around for a moment realized there should be another person with them. He fell to his knees himself and held his little brother in a way he hadn’t for years.

After Harry removed his own jacket and draped it carefully over Dobby’s still form, Luna carefully coaxed him towards the cottage. Any other time, Harry would realize it was a lovely place – under the moonlight the sea was sparkling, and the waves made a peaceful sound against the sandy shore.

The most beautiful place in the world couldn’t make Harry feel any better; as if from the wrong end of a long telescope, he saw Voldemort punishing those they had left behind at Malfoy Manor. He dared not try and see if Hermione was there; he shut his mind more fiercely than ever for fear of seeing his sister’s mangled form at Voldemort’s feet.

He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort … Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out … though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love.

It was a long time before Bill managed to get Ron to his feet – possibly with the help of magic – and into the cottage where he steered him to a chair. Ron only sat and stared. There were no tears left, no words. His whole body was limp and boneless, except for his left hand which held Hermione’s beaded bag in a tight grip. Fleur rushed back and forth between Ron and Harry, checking them for bruises and trying to offer them tea while Dean moved chairs around at her instruction to make room for everyone.

Nothing could distract them until Bill made a gentle suggestion about burying the elf. As if in a dream, Harry felt himself rise to his feet and ask for a spade. He couldn’t help Hermione, but he could thank Dobby one last time.

*** *** ***

Hermione had barely let go of Draco’s hand when there came a pounding at the door. Draco pushed Hermione backwards and murmured, “ _Incarcerous,_ ” causing ropes to appear and bind her tightly to her chair. He leaned over and hissed, “Don’t speak.” He snatched her teacup from the table and stowed it under her chair.

“Draco, answer me!” Lucius’ voice thundered through the door. Draco slowly opened the door; his father stormed in and noticed Hermione bound and pale. He showed a shadow of a sneer before turning back to his son, twice as pale.

“The Dark Lord was here. He knows what happened and he knows you are holding her for information. You better have something to report, or he will start bringing this house down!” Lucius spat in his anger and Draco stiffened. He recognized the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse in his father’s shaking arms, no matter how much Lucius tried to hold them steady.

“Is Mother …?”

“She’s fine. For all our purposes, you and she remained unaware of the situation until after Potter disappeared so neither of you carries any fault. But if you– if you fail with the Mudblood …” Draco responded by shaking his head furiously. Behind him, Hermione kept her head hung pathetically while watching the interaction silently through the curly mess of her hair.

“I’ll have information for the meeting tomorrow, Father.” Draco spoke under his breath but assumed Hermione could still hear. “She’s still recovering and can’t speak yet, but I _know_ I can get information out of her. It will take me some time; Potter picked her for a reason. She’s the best in our year, no matter how much I _despise_ her, and the bloody Order made her tough. She’ll never allow pain to scare her into betrayal.”

“A truly admirable trait, I’m sure. Too bad those talents are wasted on such filth.” Draco forced a snicker. “I am counting on you, Draco. This is the last chance to restore our family in the Dark Lord’s eyes, so you will do _anything_ to make the Mudblood squeal.” Draco merely nodded once, sharply, and Lucius spun to leave.

After the door slammed shut, Draco vanished Hermione’s bonds and retrieved the teacup from under the chair. He held it in his pale fingers for a moment. Without warning he pitched it, as hard as he could, into the fireplace where it smashed. The saucer closely followed.

*** *** ***

Hermione always knew the pretentious blond Slytherin was a liar, but he just spouted lies to his dangerous, Death Eater father for _her_.

Hermione watched her school rival pace around the room for a few minutes before he gripped the back of his armchair tightly. Sweat collected on his temples, his grip was whiter than the rest of his pale skin, and she recognized the shaking shoulders and tight mouth as a desperate attempt to not cry from frustration.

 _He’s dead if I don’t help him_ , she realized. Despite their past, Hermione didn’t like being a vengeful person. She’d become stronger, fiercer thanks to the war, and she hated it. Malfoy was a bully; he deserved detentions and perhaps an occasional hex, but she never believed he deserved to be abused in public as a ferret, hit with _Sectumsempra_ , or forced to try and kill Dumbledore.

It was strange; here was a boy who joined the Death Eaters as a proud snob trying to prove himself, unable to resist the encouragement to step into his father’s shoes. But as she studied his terrified face, she saw only a scared teenager, just like her. She silently stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for taking me out of there.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled a long breath. He didn’t want to look at her. “Trust me yet, Granger?”

“Not completely, but I’m rather convinced neither of us has a choice here,” she answered softly. He dropped his head to his hands, and she squeezed his shoulder gently before letting go. She heard him take in a long breath to compose himself and she opted to remain silent.

Draco hated that he was showing emotions around her and he desperately focused on the brick wall around the fireplace as he replicated it in his mind. “If he comes back, if _anyone_ comes back, you must seem frightened of me. If they think I’m being too lenient with you …” He trailed off but she nodded her understanding. He reached for the table and picked up the last potion bottle, which was opaque.

“Another invention of Snape’s?” Hermione guessed.

“No. Dreamless Sleep.” He handed it to her. “No games here, Granger. We both know you need that brain in one piece, so sleep.” She accepted the bottle and resisted examining it more closely. Would it be mad that they could actually trust each other?

Draco pointed her towards the massive bed before landing sideways in his armchair once again.

“I– What about you?”

“I won’t be sleeping.” He pulled out his mother’s wand and started tracing the length with his fingers, staring into the fireplace. She recognized the nonverbal dismissal and said nothing else.

Hermione tried not to think about how she was about to sleep in _Draco Malfoy’s_ bed, wandless while he was armed. The rational side of her brain was screaming at her, but she could feel the effects of the potions wearing off and some unpleasant twinges were returning to her exhausted muscles. It was likely she’d be passed out soon anyway.

She took in the subtle flavour of Dreamless Sleep as she swallowed. It was quick, working its way through her exhausted body as she settled into the most comfortable mattress she’d slept on in a long time.

*** *** ***


	11. Of Scars and Sympathy

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 11: Of Scars and Sympathy**

Hermione awoke as streams of sunrise spilled through Malfoy’s bay window. She was relieved the Dreamless Sleep held the entire night; she could scarcely imagine how horrible her nightmares might’ve been. She thought desperately of Harry’s or Ron’s arms around her as she fought back tears of pain and worry.

_They got away, and you’re still alive. It’s okay to be scared, but you need to focus._

She ground her teeth together and forced herself to sit up. Malfoy sat across the bed propped up against four pillows. He turned his head away as soon as he noticed she was awake. “Hi,” she offered.

“Hi.”

She leaned against her own pillows and discreetly studied him for a moment. His hair was more rumpled than last night, his feet were bare, and the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than yesterday. “You didn’t sleep,” she hedged. He didn’t reply, but after a moment reached to the bedside cabinet and retrieved a plate of crumpets and fruit. She accepted it with a whispered thanks. _Maybe we don’t need to hate each other anymore … we’re both prisoners now._

“How long has it been since you slept?” she asked carefully between bites.

“Last week at Hogwarts, I suppose. Without potions, anyway.”

“Why don’t you take some Dreamless Sleep and I’ll wake you if someone comes …?” she wheedled.

“I gave you my last bottle.” Her mouth fell open in surprise. “I told you, Granger, I need your brain in one piece. It’s the one that’ll get us out of this mess.”

“Does that mean … would you help me escape? You could come with me–”

“Impossible. I can’t even leave the Manor alone, much less take you out. You just give me what I need, and I’ll try to keep them from killing you. Best I can do.” Draco made a bit of a show of taking the wand from the table and putting it in his pocket before heading for the door. “Finish eating and take a shower if you want. I’ll be back in an hour.”

She watched him leave and popped the last strawberry in her mouth. She couldn’t resist trying the bedroom door once to make sure he hadn’t been lying. There was an obvious enchantment; she couldn’t even turn the doorknob.

Hermione sighed and made for the bathroom. She took in the stack of soft white towels and wondered if taking a shower would be smart. The bathroom door had a lock, but Malfoy had a wand, so that hardly mattered. After a silent battle with herself, she decided she trusted him enough to extend her a bit of privacy. She locked the door anyway before indulging in the amazing stream of hot water that relaxed her aching muscles.

She was drying her hair with one of the fluffy towels when she noticed the potion cupboard he’d been rummaging through yesterday. She doubted any of the potions could be used as a weapon since he left her alone with them. Still, it never hurt to look.

*** *** ***

When Draco returned, Hermione was curled up in one of the armchairs reading from a book she’d randomly selected. He noted the cover and chortled at her. “ _Quidditch Through the Ages?_ ”

“I’ve read it before if you must know. Just because I’m not a fan of the game doesn’t mean I can’t respect its history.”

“M-hm.” He took the opposite chair and set down a tea tray which gave off a lovely scent. Hermione gratefully helped herself to a cup and nibbled on a scone, watching subtly as he did the same. Draco sat back in his chair, the picture of a proper upper-class gentleman, despite his messy hair and unchanged clothes.

“So, tell me, Miss Granger, how have you been keeping?” Only Draco Malfoy could look that smug with bare feet.

Hermione decided to play along and crossed her ankles demurely. “Well, Mr. Malfoy, I’ve kept busy. Reading books, naturally. Rummaging for food. Fighting off Death Eaters … you know, the usual.” She was pleased to see a tiny smile crack his exhausted face. “And yourself?”

“Ah, you know, enjoying my well-earned holiday despite a certain snakelike wizard using my family home as his base of operations while studiously ignoring my homework due to the unlikelihood that I shall live to see my eighteenth birthday. And do tell me, where are you planning to spend your summer?” Hermione choked on her tea and Draco smirked. _I win this round, Granger_.

Hermione forced her giggle to subside as her mind reeled back to the unpleasant circumstances. “So … how is this going to work? I can’t tell you anything of real value.”

“That depends what you consider valuable.” They drank from their teacups at the same time, studying each other.

Hermione took a breath. “I’m bound by more than only my own morals to support Harry. If he’s compromised, the entire Wizarding World could suffer. I presume you know by now that Vol– _he_ doesn’t treat people well, even his own followers.”

Draco drained his teacup and set it down, wishing for something stronger. “Believe me, I know,” he muttered. “I don’t want him to win.” Hermione tilted her head, silently inviting him to elaborate. “I’ve seen what his influence is doing at Hogwarts, and it’s hell, Granger. I might be pure-blood, but I don’t wanna live in his world. I don’t like Potter, but I’d rather follow his arse to the finish line if he’s got any chance …”

Hermione set down her tea. “You could’ve turned us all in yesterday,” she murmured. “I watched you struggling with it, and it didn’t seem like you wanted Harry to win. Rather, you didn’t want to be the one to condemn him.” Draco snorted.

“I’m a Slytherin, remember? I care about myself. I won’t die for Potter – I’m not a fool like Weasley or _you_ – but I saw an opportunity to avoid delivering the killing stroke, so I took it.”

 _Not the first time,_ she mused to herself, but Draco wouldn’t know she knew that. A few moments passed in silence until, predictably, Draco spoke first. “What’s Potter been up to?”

“I think I’d prefer not to answer that question.”

His lips pursed, reminding her of her favourite professor for a moment. “I thought we had an understanding here, Granger …”

“We do. But you’ve known me long enough to know that I value knowledge above almost everything. I believe information shouldn’t be freely given unless deserved. Knowledge is power, and it must be _earned_.”

“OK. Tell me everything about Potter and the Order and I’ll write a sixteen-inch essay for you.”

Despite herself, Hermione chuckled. “That’s not _quite_ what I had in mind.” She played with her sleeve for a moment. “Draco, I don’t trust you … but I trust that right now cooperating with me is in your best interest,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I know you don’t trust me, either, especially considering our history, but this situation demands a different approach from the relationship to which we’re accustomed, and I’ve learned a lot this year about adapting to unexpected circumstances.”

_You’ve no idea, Granger._

“So, I’d like to make you a deal within the realm of our current understanding. I’ll trust you to keep me away from the– the others, and I’ll give you some information that allows you to do so. In return, you trust me to play along with your scheme and you’ll offer _me_ some information in return.”

“I don’t exactly have a copy of the Dark Lord’s timetable, Granger,” he said shortly.

“I don’t doubt there’s things you haven’t been privy to, but there will be things that might help, if I ever get out of here. If there’s nothing about _him_ , you can at least tell me more about you.” He stared at her. “I think it’s fair,” she protested. “You want me to trust you? Let me meet the real Draco Malfoy under all that arrogance and money.”

He clicked his tongue at her. “You don’t want to know me.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“You’re in no position to be arguing with me.” He tried to sound threatening, but she shrugged nonchalantly.

“You’re welcome to question me until your tongue falls out, but I won’t divulge information that hasn’t been earned in equal favour.” Draco huffed and Hermione held back a smirk of her own. He may be an adult by wizarding standards, but he was still a bully and bullies didn’t know how to fight logic. Despite him having the wand, she knew she had the upper hand.

He knew it, too. It truly wasn’t fair that his prisoner was cleverer than him.

“Alright, you’ve got yourself a temporary truce,” he drawled. “I don’t like you, Granger, but I’ll play along so we can try and survive this damned war. If we both get out, none of this ever happened.” He extended a hand to her, mirroring her action from last night.

Hermione inclined her head and accepted.

_Well. I guess we’re equals now._

*** *** ***

Unfortunately, neither of them wanted to be the first to share.

“Tell me where Potter’s been hiding.”

“All over the place. Tell me what’s going on at Hogwarts.”

“Unpleasant things. What’s Potter doing?”

“Avoiding Death Eaters. What did you fear as a child?” Hermione tried.

Draco scowled. “That’s _never_ happening.”

“You agreed to my terms …”

“I’m not sharing my bloody secrets with you like we’re fourteen-year-old witches at a slumber party!”

“I’m not asking about your deepest desires here, Malfoy, I’m asking for you to tell me something that’ll help me trust you! Tell me something about your fears, or pains, or regrets …”

“Why d’you assume I’ve got so much pain and so many regrets?” He sneered.

“I didn’t say that, exactly–”

“It’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” he snapped. “Poor little terrified Malfoy, stuck in his room with the girl he hates, trying to survive because he didn’t make _good choices_ or follow the bloody Gryffindor code of being _perfect_ …”

She was getting frustrated. “Have you considered you’d be in better shape right now if you’d gone to Dumbledore and done the right thing in the first place? It probably never occurred to you–”

He slammed his fist against the table. “You think you know me so well already, why bother with this bloody interrogation?! You’re so ruddy clever and you’ve been doing the _right thing_ this whole time, out there saving the world with your perfect little band of Gryffindors, probably laughing your heads off at the idiot Slytherins who never had a choice!”

Hermione’s frustration made her rise from her seat. “There’s _always_ a choice, and don’t you dare presume to know what we’ve been through–!”

“How could it _possibly_ be worse than what I’ve gone through?” He didn’t notice how loud his voice was getting; what was it about this bloody witch that made all his emotional walls come down?

“You’ve been able to go back to _school_ , Malfoy!” She cried shrilly, losing control of herself for the first time since Ron’s abrupt return. “You’ve slept in a real bed, you spend holidays in your nice, roomy _manor_ , and your family’s all in one piece! We’ve been living off _dirt_ trying to survive while our friends are being hunted, my parents are gone, now my best friends are _missing!_ You have no _clue_ what kind of pain I’m in, Malfoy, especially after yesterday–”

“ENOUGH!” He was suddenly on his feet, towering over her.

Unexpectedly, Hermione froze. She had plenty of practice dealing with angry boys, but Draco Malfoy didn’t look like a boy right now.

“You have no _bloody_ idea what you’re talking about,” he hissed, drawing closer to her. “You think you know pain after _this?_ You think ‘cause you got caught and spent nine minutes at the end of my aunt’s wand, you know everything about _PAIN?_ ” His expression suggested she was a wall he wanted to knock down.

“ _Nine minutes_ , Granger. I know ‘cause I was forced to watch. If I tried to stop her, I would’ve been next or my _mother_ might’ve been next! So I watched your left hand and I counted. After three and a half minutes she stopped. Two and a half more minutes. MORE screaming.” Hermione’s mouth was open, and she couldn’t close it. She tried to remember the last time she blinked.

“Almost sixty seconds of silence. Then it started again, and I kept counting. And there was still three more minutes before it was over.” He didn’t think he’d ever say any of these words … he felt like she’d broken down every one of his mental defenses. “I reckon in those nine minutes you felt like your body was burnt from head to toe. Like every muscle in your body was torn to shreds. Like your bones were covered in _cracks_.”

She unconsciously stepped back from him. She never feared Draco Malfoy … but she’d clearly never seen him truly angry. His grey eyes were wide and unblinking, and she was acutely aware that he was stronger than her _and_ carrying a wand.

“But how could a Slytherin prick like me with all my _regrets_ possibly know what YOU went through? How could I possibly understand your pain after _nine whole minutes?_ ” His voice had gone dangerously quiet and his bare feet moved soundlessly against the rug. _When did he get this tall?_

“Imagine twenty-two.” Her eyes, if possible, went wider. “That’s right, Granger. That’s how long _I’ve_ been tortured. Not at once, or I’d be a pile of blond hair in a bloody puddle, but over the last couple years? _Twenty-two minutes_. Mostly thanks to my _lovely_ Aunt Bella, or the occasional Death Eater allowed to punish me because I failed to learn the Curse fast enough. And a few times, it was from the _Dark Lord himself_.” His voice dropped to a low hiss. Hermione felt the window against her back; she hadn’t realized her retreating feet had taken her across the entire room.

Without removing his cold, grey eyes from her terrified brown ones, his hands met the window behind her, trapping her between his trembling arms. The fear in her eyes was motivating; he no longer cared about saying too much. She asked for information and he wanted her to _know._

“Aunt Bella may be awful, but I’ve spent seven minutes at the end of _his_ wand. And I’m bloody _lucky_ , Granger, ‘cause even though I failed him he let me _survive_. D’you know what he normally does? He dispatched two traitor Death Eaters last year with Crucios because it’s worse than _Avada_. You think it’s the worst curse, right? The Killing Curse?” Malfoy let out a cold laugh that didn’t suit him and she cringed.

“It’s _nothing_ ,” he spat. “The Killing Curse is a quick green flash, and you’re just _gone_. They wish they’d been so lucky. After thirty straight minutes of Crucios they turned into drooling, babbling messes on the floor and they started to literally tear their skin off the bones to make the pain stop. And I had to stand there and watch the whole thing. He called it a _valuable_ _lesson_.”

Two streams of tears had already leaked down her cheek, which Malfoy ignored. He didn’t seem to be able to stop, and Hermione suddenly wondered if anyone listened to him before. Perhaps he never had the chance to express how he felt, and it was all exploding out of him now?

“Oh, it gets better, Granger. Remember Professor Burbage? She got the merciful green light, but then his pet snake _ate her body_ on my dining room table! And here’s the best part: you praise your Gryffindor heroes for doing the _right thing,_ ” He let go of the window with one hand to reach, white-knuckled, for the top button of his shirt. “Did your righteous mate Potter ever tell you what _he_ did to me?” He stopped bothering with buttons and roughly tore his shirt apart to reveal his ivory skin below.

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. Harry did tell them about _Sectumsempra_ , but she never imagined it would heal so poorly. Some scars had faded to pink and white, barely visible on his pale skin, but three or four large tears still crossed his pectoral muscles; ugly, red, and jagged as though someone tried to remove his heart with a broken steak knife.

“The Cruciatus Curse _feels_ like pain,” Malfoy’s dangerously low voice started to rise again. She never thought she’d miss his childish drawl. “But this wasn’t in my head. This was a _bloody real curse that TORE MY CHEST APART!_ ” Hermione’s throat released a sob, and she couldn’t remove her hand from her mouth. Her cheeks were wet with tears. “Next time you wanna talk about _pain_ , or you wanna preach the _right thing_ , Granger, you better THINK about who you’re talking to,” he spat.

She didn’t think it was possible to feel this way for someone she used to despise. She wanted to reach for him, to say _anything_ , but he didn’t give her a chance. He yanked the edges of his ruined shirt together, turned on his heel, and slammed the bedroom door behind him.

Hermione fell to her knees.

*** *** ***

Harry sat by Dobby’s humble grave, holding Hermione’s beaded bag in his hands. The previous night, Ron hadn’t been able to speak. Spurred only by his desire to end Voldemort, Harry managed to question Griphook and Ollivander while Ron emotionlessly listened. Only when Harry said flatly that he meant to break into Gringotts did Ron’s expression shift.

Wordlessly, his friend reached into his pocket and withdrew the beaded bag. Harry had no idea Ron had it; he thought his knees would give out as he took it in his hand, realizing what this little bag cost. Hermione kept it from the Snatchers and any residual effort she had was spent ensuring they got it back, even if they couldn’t save her. Her collection of books, potions, and the Invisibility Cloak were still nestled safely inside. Harry tried to plan but without the Cloak, he didn’t know how to make it work. It would take weeks, possibly months …

He clutched the bag in his shaking hands and tears streamed down his face. Once again, he didn’t have the answers … but his adoptive sister and her cool logic gave him the final piece of the puzzle.

*** *** ***

It was hours before Malfoy returned. Hermione tried pointlessly to leave the room, but the knob still didn’t budge. She didn’t bother trying to open the door leading to the terrace; it was too high off the ground and she would likely break a leg jumping down, even if black-hooded figures weren’t periodically wandering the lawns below. She resorted to curling up on the bed where she tried to calm her sobs. Malfoy’s emotional explosion seemed to set off one of her own.

She cried for Harry, who’d been relying on her and must keep fighting without her help. She cried for the look on Ron’s face when he realized he couldn’t reach her. She cried because she didn’t know if Bellatrix’s knife had hit him or the brave elf who came to save them. She cried for her parents, who would never remember her name.

She cried for Draco Malfoy, the arrogant prick who didn’t deserve the life he was forced into.

She managed to cry herself into a short nap against the giant pillows, but movement near the bed startled her awake. Draco set down a large glass of water next to her along with what she recognized as a Blood-Replenishing Potion. She wanted to say something, even thank you, but her mouth was too dry. She gulped some water and watched him walk to the other side of the bed to sit as far from her as possible. His face was like stone.

Hermione swallowed the potion and the remainder of the water and finally, summoning her Gryffindor courage, she slid minutely closer to Malfoy and whispered a thank you.

“I forgot to give it to you yesterday.” His voice was very tight. She duly noticed he’d replaced his torn shirt.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Hermione said slowly. “You said that y– yesterday, you stared at my left hand.” Draco swallowed. He knew he said more during his furious rant than he originally intended, but he didn’t realize that little item slipped out. Trust _her_ to tear apart his whole speech looking for hidden meanings. He’d spent the last three hours rebuilding the mental blocks she made him tear down. He didn’t want to return, but he still needed her.

“I think I’m mostly confused that you were looking at me in the first place. Wouldn’t it have been easier to turn away and look at something else?”

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it sounded a bit forced. “Your left hand clenched into a fist and unclenched when the curse stopped. I remember you used to do that during exams, and I figured it was when you had a hard question. Not like that happened often.” He almost smirked. “Your right hand held the quill so tight and you scribbled so fast I’m surprised you didn’t break four or five a day, and it’s like your left hand had to hold on just as hard to balance yourself out or something,” he shrugged disinterestedly and stood, walking towards the window.

Why would he notice such a minor thing about her behaviour? And yet, she also knew some of _his_ habits – such as his tendency to bite his nails during Transfiguration exams. It seemed that six years together tore down more privacy walls than they realized.

“Well, I suppose breaking a few quills wouldn’t be too bad compared to the torture you wreaked upon your poor textbooks,” she shot back. “I imagine the speed at which you turned the pages resulted in every leaf falling out by third year. I shudder to think of the fate the helpless library books might’ve sustained if you ever bothered reading any.”

Draco turned back to her, furious. His desire to fight her was physically conquering him. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed the tiny smile on her face.

 _Is she … teasing me?_ He swallowed his insults and took a breath. Nobody but Blaise teased him. Pansy wouldn’t think of it, and Crabbe and Goyle wouldn’t dare try.

“I suppose it was easier for you to imagine I was taking an exam than being tortured,” Hermione said softly. “I probably would’ve done the same thing.” Draco snorted suddenly, and she looked up in surprise.

“No, you Gryffindors are all alike.” Draco muttered. “If it were me lying there, you wouldn’t stay still. You’d scream and yell to take my place, just like the Weasel did. You’re all so desperate to prove your bravery you’ll sacrifice yourselves at the drop of a Quaffle.”

Hermione stood, furious, and backed him into the window. He was too surprised to stop her.

“You are so _clueless!_ You think because we were sorted into Gryffindor it defines _everything_ about us? I _hate_ that Ron tried to take my place, but I’ll have you know it had nothing to do with being a Gryffindor!” She was yelling in the hopes she wouldn’t start crying again. “I know the family Ron came from, and any of them would’ve done the same thing because they’re selfless and honourable, not something I expect _you_ to understand! Aside, Ron tried to replace me because he considers himself _expendable!_ It’s not true in the slightest, because he’s completely irreplaceable, but he secretly believes as long as his family and Harry and I make it through this war he doesn’t need to, and I _HATE_ him for that!”

Draco was a little stunned, especially because she had tears in her eyes again, but old habits died hard and he was still angry with her. He smarmily replied, “Don’t you think he might be right about that, Granger? Potter’s the _Chosen One_ and you’re the know-it-all that solves all his problems, so what’s the Weasel good for, anyway? Bait?”

Hermione slapped him.

For two minutes neither of them moved. Hermione’s eyes were spitting fire at his hateful words. She forgot about their truce; she forgot she was a wandless prisoner at his mercy. She leaned in and hissed, “You don’t know _anything_ about us! You will _never_ understand, because you could never have friends like us, and I feel _sorry_ for you, Malfoy.”

She turned quickly, hitting him across the mouth with her hair, and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

*** *** ***


	12. Of Sentiment and Steps

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 12: Of Sentiment and Steps**

Hermione hid in the bathroom for nearly an hour, slumped on the soft rug as she tried to soothe her anger. Harsh as he’d been, Malfoy already proved that she underestimated what he’d been through, and she made it worse by having it out with him again. She’d hardly blame him if he changed his mind now and sent her back downstairs to Bellatrix.

She stood and stared at her broken expression in the mirror. She hated herself for losing her temper, for running away like a child having a tantrum, and for taking out her pain on her not-completely-unkind jailer.

She reflected how sharp her words had been. He’d yelled at her first, but he was proving her ignorance and defending himself. She, in turn, hurt him right where she knew it would smart the most. Malfoy had friends, certainly, but his relationships with Crabbe and Goyle couldn’t possibly measure up with what she shared with Harry and Ron, and she’d known for a long time that Malfoy’s hatred of them grew out of jealousy.

Hermione wiped the residual tears from her eyes. No matter what he said, he saved her, and she owed him.

*** *** ***

Draco spent a while staring at the bathroom door after Hermione slammed it shut. The slap hadn’t hurt nearly as much as her biting remarks. Usually only Blaise could put Draco in his place with words alone. If this happened a year ago, he would’ve stormed after her and insulted her right back, threatened her, or – more likely – hexed her. Maybe dragged her back downstairs by her ridiculous hair.

Now, he was simply dumbfounded at how right she was.

He’d been lucky to connect with Blaise, maintain a decent working relationship with Theo – have employer-employee connections with Greg and Vince – but none of them had anything comparable to Potter and his pack. The Gryffindors were literally willing to suffer and die for each other, and Draco didn’t think he’d demand to be tortured in Theo or Blaise’s stead any more than they would sacrifice themselves for him.

He still didn’t like Granger, but he wasn’t even angry at her anymore. No matter what, they were still stuck together for now, and he couldn’t hate her for being right.

 _Good job, you sap, you don’t hate the Mudblood anymore._ What was this bloody war doing to him?

Finally, Draco managed to turn away from the closed door. He refused to feel sorry for himself any longer. He picked up one of his Occlumency books to review and settled in an armchair, throwing up mental defences against his lingering emotions.

*** *** ***

When Hermione quietly emerged from the bathroom, she was a little surprised he was still there. She avoided his gaze and turned the other armchair to face the bay window. She plunked herself down with her arms hugging her legs as she studied the manor grounds.

Draco kept his book raised in front of his face so she could only see his eyes and not his hard-set lips. He didn’t want her to know how much she’d affected him.

Shadows moved slowly across the room as the dim sun peaked and then lowered in the grey sky. Draco’s stomach made a noise and he realized he should fetch some food for the two of them. He was trying to avoid thinking of the strategy meeting scheduled for midnight and how he still had nothing useful from Granger. How could he convince her to talk?

“It was a lion’s paw.”

He slowly lowered the book from his eyes and forced his tight lips to relax and his face to shift into an expression of bored acknowledgment.

“I used to be absolutely terrified of snakes, and they gave me nightmares when I was little. My mum bought me a stuffed lion for Christmas one year, and she told me all about how lions were great predators.” Hermione hadn’t turned away from the window yet.

“I imagined the lion would chase the snakes away in my dreams, as long as I held his paw when I slept. I got used to holding his paw in my left hand anytime I was scared. I’ve long since retired my lion from my bed, but the habit stuck. So that’s why I squeeze my left hand when I’m stressed.”

“Then you ended up in Gryffindor and hated all the Slytherins,” Draco drawled. “Makes sense.” She turned towards him sharply.

“I _don’t_ hate all Slytherins, and that was pure coincidence–”

“Sure, Granger. You just happened to rely on a lion to protect you from all the evil snakes.”

“Perhaps snakes are evil, but Slytherins aren’t.”

He looked at her, at that. “You don’t think so?”

“No, I certainly do not. Some are, yes, but I resent the generalization.”

“So, what’s the point of your little story exactly?”

“Well …” she faltered a little. “Whether or not you meant to, you opened up to me earlier, and then I insulted you, so I thought I owed you something.”

He shrugged, detached. “Oh, I’m hardly hurt by your _insults_ , woman.” Draco stretched out his jaw and dramatically winced as he gingerly touched his cheek where she’d slapped him.

She grimaced at him. “I’m pretty sure you deserved that.”

“I think that’s twice you’ve nearly disfigured my handsome face, so you owe me an explanation.” He put on his best condescending expression, but Hermione pursed her lips at him.

“You insulted my best friend.”

“The Weasel? Hard not to.” She glared, making Draco roll his eyes. “I called a truce with _you_ , Granger, not them. It shouldn’t be news to you that I’ll probably hate them forever.”

“Well, I resent your logic that Ron is useless, or that he’s only brave because he’s a Gryffindor. It’s the same as me assuming all Slytherins are evil, isn’t it? I can’t stand this ongoing prejudice, and in the last couple years the whole house system has really been starting to irritate me.”

“Oh?” His interest was mildly piqued, and he wanted to keep her talking, anyway. Merlin knew she enjoyed it.

“Yes,” she answered firmly. “The rivalries extend beyond just Gryffindor and Slytherin, you know. Plenty of Ravenclaws disliked me because their house was always thought to boast the most intelligent students, and I was often ahead of them. Hufflepuffs got along alright with Gryffindors, but they started to dislike us – I mean Harry, Ron and me – because Harry’s entrance in the Triwizard Tournament outshone Cedric Diggory, and of course we would never support Cedric over our best friend.”

“Ironically, I think that’s the only year I actually got along with Hufflepuff,” Draco observed. He rose from his chair and leaned against the tall bed.

“But see, you never would’ve considered being nice to them until you had a common enemy,” Hermione persisted. “Your house isn’t evil, but you lot hold more prejudice than the rest of us. I knew at the age of eleven, from reading _Hogwarts, A History_ that I would _never_ be accepted by the Slytherins, simply because of my blood.”

Draco shifted on his feet slightly, but she didn’t seem to notice as she continued, “Something as trivial as my being born to Muggles completely excluded me from a quarter of the school before I’d even _arrived_. Do you think anyone in your house would’ve willingly been friends with me? Or even _smiled_ at me?” She felt her voice shake a little and she stopped speaking.

Draco folded his arms and cut in, “You Gryffindors weren’t exactly bending over backwards to be friends with _us_ , either. I offered Potter an alliance on our very first day and he turned me down. This goes both ways, Granger.”

“Harry and Ron told me ages ago what happened that day,” she replied dryly. “You began by insulting Ron’s family. Why would Harry want to be friends after that?” Draco frowned. He’d completely forgotten about mouthing off to Weasley. He didn’t seem important, because talking to Potter had been the whole point.

Hermione went on, quietly. “I suppose you wouldn’t know that Harry had been bulled by his Muggle family, and it was easy for him to bond with Ron because he understood what Harry went through. He wouldn’t’ve considered becoming friends with a bully.”

 _Merlin’s beard._ That’s why Potter rejected him. It hadn’t occurred to Draco that anything besides confidence would win over Potter.

Hermione seemed to read something in his face. “Look, I understand you a little better now that we’ve grown up. I’ve met your family and I can only imagine the influence you had before Hogwarts. You probably didn’t think twice about insulting a blood traitor or making fun of a Mudblood, because you heard them do it first.”

He opened his mouth to defend his family, but words failed him. She waited patiently. Clearly, he didn’t like long silences.

“I didn’t really think about it …” he said after several minutes. “But I– I _liked_ it. I liked it when someone was afraid of me, like Longbottom. Or when I could make someone lose their heads, like the Weasleys. I liked that I could get a rise out of _you_. Merlin knows I couldn’t best you except in blood status.”

She stood and leaned against the bed, an arms length from him. _Why do I keep telling her this stuff?_ He reflected that his past few years of healthy arguments with Blaise might’ve softened him a little. He’d never really had a conversation with Granger, and she _was_ clever. She was even somewhat tolerable when she wasn’t being annoying.

“Power is contagious and corruptive, no matter its form,” she said quietly. “I liked having power over people of lesser intelligence because it made me feel superior. I never wanted to be a bully, but there’s a chance I came off that way–”

“So, even the Gryffindor bookworm has a little Slytherin in her?”

“We all do, don’t you see?” Hermione persisted. “A little bit of each house. Cunning, courage, intelligence, and loyalty. If we didn’t have all those things, we wouldn’t be very good wizards.” He looked over at her. She looked back, not quite with kindness, but with tolerance.

“You’re irritating, Granger.”

“You only say that because I’m correct.”

“Perhaps, but I still hate you,” he said promptly.

“I’d hardly expect otherwise.”

“Well, you hate me too.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Should I? Hate is strong; it takes great emotion to hate someone. I hate Dolores Umbridge and Rita Skeeter, because they deliberately made life hell for others for their own benefit. I hate You-Know-Who, obviously. I hate Dolohov, because he did this to me,” she raised the hem of her shirt to show a lingering purple mark, like a strange burn, across the right side of her ribs. Draco narrowed his eyes, wondering what caused such a strange mark.

“You’re irritating and prejudiced, Malfoy, and I definitely wish you got more detentions for bullying people. But no, I don’t hate you.”

Draco was silent for a moment. “But you aren’t surprised I hate you.”

She shrugged. “You’ve an issue with my blood status. I have no such issue. Ron is just as pure-blooded as you, and it means absolutely nothing to me. It’s only an inconvenience when we misunderstand each other because of our respective experiences during childhood, but neither of us holds it against the other. Our values and our commitment to helping Harry are the same, no matter our backgrounds or our blood.”

What was with this witch and her ability to concisely counter everything he knew with logical arguments?

“Well, maybe I did deserve to get slapped,” he shrugged noncommittally. “I suppose I didn’t have a nice, well-rounded upbringing like you with your special parents who taught you about discrimination and gave you magical lions.”

His face was still determinedly set in stone, but Hermione detected a very un-Malfoy-like grin hidden below the surface, reminiscent of the teenage boys she knew so well, and she couldn’t resist smiling a little. “I’ve no doubt your parents gave you plenty of things–” she countered.

“They gave me magical items, certainly, but no stuffed animal that chased my nightmares away.”

“Well, as I was only five years old, I didn’t question the logic,” she chuckled. “Although it wasn’t long after I realized a stuffed mongoose would’ve made more sense, since they naturally prey on snakes …” she abruptly cut off her unintentional lecture. “So, you had nightmares too?”

“Pretty sure every kid does,” he drawled, running a hand through his silvery hair. “Mine was lightning,” he admitted reluctantly.

Thanks to Hermione’s family collection of science books, she _loved_ the phenomenon of lightning and for at least three months one year she was determined to be a meteorologist. She mused, “I’m a little surprised a wizard would be afraid of the weather, since you could cast a Silencing Charm or …”

“Not when you’re six years old.”

“Your parents didn’t …?”

“My father made me face my fears. Hiding from them wasn’t an option. If he Silenced my curtains or magicked the windows to black out, I would just be letting fear control me. He didn’t know I slept in the closet anytime there was a thunderstorm.”

“That’s not shameful, for a child. I presume you don’t do that anymore,” she teased lightly.

“No, I hide in my closet now for other reasons,” he snorted. They both hid a laugh. Hermione studied him out of the corner of her eye, daring to believe this arrangement might work. He really wasn’t so bad.

“Well, the next meeting I’m part of is at midnight, and they’ll need to know what I tortured out of my little Mudblood prisoner.” He looked over at her pointedly and she sighed.

“I suppose we should both play by the rules now.”

“This isn’t a game, Granger.”

Hermione paused. “What if it were?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “What if this _were_ a game? We obviously trust each other at least a little, and we’ve gotten some anger out of our systems. Perhaps it would be easier to proceed from here if we treat this like a game.”

Draco wasn’t familiar with a game in which one bargained bits of information for their life, but he was far too exhausted to start another argument. He stood up and stretched his arms above his head. “Whatever, Granger, as long as I get something out of it. You can work out the details and I’ll go get dinner.” He slipped his feet into a pair of shoes quickly and pulled the door closed behind him.

She grinned as she allowed herself to imagine her reunion with Harry and Ron. _They’ll never believe I got Draco Malfoy to trust me._

*** *** ***

When Draco returned with a covered tray, he found Hermione flipping through a book again – no surprise – but also noted three books spaced across the room on the floor. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she waved him over. He placed the tray on the table and they both started to partake in piping hot shepherd’s pie.

“I drew inspiration from a Muggle therapy technique. This is a fair way for us to trade information,” Hermione explained between bites. “The green book marks the middle of the room, and each black book is equally spaced between the green book and a wall. We each begin at a black book and take steps backwards or forwards. You win the round if you step backwards and reach the wall but lose the round if you step forward and reach the green book. Whoever loses the round relinquishes a piece of information.”

Draco swallowed the last of his pie and raised an eyebrow at her. “What makes us step?”

“I’ll guess something about you. Your favourite colour, for instance. If I’m correct, you step forwards. If I’m incorrect, you step backwards,” she explained. “This is a fairly straightforward way for us to build a little trust without … er–”

“Fighting?” he grunted.

“Perhaps a more accurate word is _exploding_ ,” Hermione offered coyly. “Likely you’ll agree that if one of us doesn’t survive the war, anything we tell each other won’t matter in the slightest.” Draco felt his stomach churn. He didn’t want to trust her, but Merlin only knew she would be a better confidant than any Death Eater. This witch had _honour_ , a trait missing among most Slytherins.

“Alright, Granger. Beats wizard’s chess.” Draco stood beside the black book nearest the door, and she stood by the one closer to the window. He made a flourishing bow in her direction. “Witches first.”

Hermione expected this and firmly stated her prepared theory, “You find Transfiguration particularly stressful.”

Draco paused and took a breath before taking a step forward. “How’d you know?” he grumbled.

“Same way you noticed that I clench my left hand; you bite your nails when you’re stressed, and you mostly do it during Transfiguration exams,” she replied promptly. “During the OWL, I think you actually made your hand bleed.”

“Can’t believe you bothered to look past the edge of your book,” he drawled, trying to sound confident despite his startling realization that she might be better at this game than he expected.

“It happens occasionally. Your turn.”

He thought a moment and then said, “You’re in love with Weasley.” Hermione took a deliberate step backwards. Draco raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really. I think the person you love most in the world is your mother.” Draco stepped forwards again with a scowl. He didn’t care for the lead she was gaining already, so he eyed her up and down for inspiration before realizing something.

“You never wear jewelry or makeup … so I reckon you never got along with other girls and that’s why you spend so much time with Potter and Weasley.” Hermione nodded and took a step forward. Draco internally cheered.

“Among other reasons, yes. I think you’ve got a wicked sweet tooth.” Draco groaned and took another step forward. He was just one short of the green book. Pleased, Hermione couldn’t resist shifting into her epitomized know-it-all pose.

“My mother fed that habit terribly by sending me cakes at school ‘til I was allowed to go to Honeydukes in third year.” Draco admitted as Hermione smiled in reply. “You’re the opposite. You don’t eat many sweets; you always studied through pudding.”

She took a step ahead and replied, “Yes, my parents were dentists, so sugar-free was just the way of life at my house.” She ignored the sudden flash of pain and considered her opponent. “Even though you’re in Slytherin, your favourite colour _isn’t_ green. I imagine, based on this room, it’s blue.”

Draco groaned in defeat and took his last step forward, reaching the green book. “Shouldn’t’ve let you plan this bloody game …” Hermione tittered at him.

“It was perfectly fair, you know. Now, speak up, and then we start again.” Draco tapped his foot on the floor by the green book. He wondered how much she’d figured out already.

“When you got here yesterday, Potter and Weasley got locked up downstairs with Thomas and the goblin. We had two other prisoners in there, too.” Hermione’s eyebrows went up. “There was Ollivander – the old wand maker from Diagon Alley – and that weird Ravenclaw, Lovegood.”

Hermione sank to the floor. “Luna’s _here?_ ”

“Not anymore. When old Dobby came to save Potter, I reckon he got the others out as well. The only body down there was Wormtail.” Hermione breathed deeply in relief.

 _Luna is alright, and Ollivander … he could answer questions about the Elder Wand. I’m sure Harry still believes in that Hallows stuff. Harry and Ron can keep Luna and Dean safe. And vice versa. Pettigrew was killed …? I remember he owed Harry a debt for saving his life … Shoot. Do I owe Malfoy one now? Did he technically save my life? It can’t be that simple … maybe because Dark magic was used to allow Pettigrew to return to Voldemort …? I can’t believe I never researched life debts_ –

Draco returned to his black book. Hermione broke her ceaseless chain of thoughts and scrambled up to her own spot. “You don’t like Quidditch, ‘cause you can’t learn it from a book,” Draco stated, smirking. Hermione pursed her lips together and took a tentative step forward. “I knew it!” he crowed.

“Well, you’re half correct, but I’ll let it slide. I think your favourite subject is Potions.” Draco shrugged but stepped forwards.

“Sadly, they don’t count Quidditch as a class, so yes. Hm. Weasley wanted you to go with him to the Yule Ball, but you turned him down for Krum, and that’s why he was being a moody arse all night.” Hermione inwardly cringed at the memory and stepped towards the green book.

“When Buckbeak hurt you at our first Care of Magical Creatures class you weren’t in nearly as much pain as you let on because you wanted Hagrid sacked,” she countered.

Draco rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “Those bloody beasts weren’t safe for thirteen-year-olds, and you know it.” He didn’t expect Hermione to immediately step forward. “You _agree_ with me?”

“Yes, I do. I tried to help Hagrid plan his lessons and he waved me off constantly. I love him so much, but he is ridiculously stubborn about magical creatures.” Draco made to smirk at her, but it was much closer to a smile.

“Last year you were going to use the Cruciatus Curse on Harry before he hit you with the one that cut your chest,” Hermione said softly. _She knew?_ Draco’s eyes narrowed as he reluctantly stepped forward. There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Did you really mean it?” she dared to ask.

“Does it matter anymore? What he did to me was worse,” Draco snapped, irritated.

“That doesn’t change the intent, Draco. Harry was unfamiliar with that spell – and he shouldn’t’ve used it, the idiot – but he used it with intent to defend himself, not to attack. _You_ moved first.”

“You were going on about Light and Dark yesterday; I think Potter’s little spell was darker than mine,” Draco muttered in his defence. She noticed he was fidgeting with his hands in an unconscious effort to not bite his nails, but she remained quiet until he reluctantly admitted, “I spent all my holidays surrounded by Death Eaters. When you hear something twenty times a week, it’s bound to stick in your head.” Hermione dropped her gaze. How awful that it was second nature for him to think of that curse first.

Draco read the guilt in her expression and knew he could win this round. He needed one last step from her and decided it would be fun to shock her out of her guilt. “You’re still a virgin,” he declared.

Hermione’s guilt vanished in a flash and she glared daggers at him. He shrugged innocently but smirked a little as he waited. She took one step forward to the green book and promptly picked it up to smack him on the arm with it. “So that’s a yes?” She cringed at his sneer.

“I’m pretty sure my love life doesn’t need to be part of this game, Malfoy.”

“I’m pretty sure you just confirmed you don’t _have_ one.” He was pleased with her scowl. He stole the book from her hand and flapped it in front of her face tauntingly – “I win, Granger,” – before setting it back on the floor.

Hermione sighed and leaned against the end of the bed. “Alright. What do you want to know?”

“Where’d Potter go?”

“I don’t know, but I wish I did.”

“Then, where were you lot before?”

“We moved around constantly, at least twice a week. We tented mostly, staying out of London and behind protective enchantments. We only got caught because Harry mistakenly used You-Know-Who’s name.”

“I guess that’s why they had so much trouble tracking him,” Draco mused, running a hand through his hair. “Well, that’s something but it’s not much.”

She returned to her black book. “I guess you’ll have to find a way to beat me again. And _no_ jabs at my love life!” Draco yawned obviously and she rolled her eyes at him.

“OK Granger, your turn.”

*** *** ***


	13. Of Improvisation and Inconsistencies

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 13: Of Improvisation and Inconsistencies**

The unlikely pair questioned each other for the rest of the day. Hermione was nearly reduced to tears twice as she relived memories about her missing friends, but she and Draco unexpectedly made each other laugh several times.

A bold guess on Hermione’s part made Draco admit he had his first kiss with Pansy Parkinson, but he hated it because she was far too enthusiastic. She couldn’t hide her snicker but burst into a blush herself when Draco correctly guessed that her first kiss was from Viktor Krum. He merely scowled when she commented that at least her first kiss was with an international Quidditch star and not with a shrilling, squashed-nose Slytherin girl.

Draco broke into raucous laughter when Hermione begrudgingly admitted she had a crush on Professor Lockhart back in the day; she hated him for laughing but couldn’t deny his laugh was rather nice when it was genuine. She didn’t even mind too much when he teased her with a sultry wink and hinted that she seemed to enjoy spending time with attractive blond men.

His pointed face became surprisingly soft when she correctly guessed he was afraid of lightning because the bright flashes of light resembled dark curses. Her face similarly softened when he guessed that she wasn’t in love with Harry, but that he was more like her brother.

She admitted to Draco that the old Black home belonged to Harry, and that they hid out there for a while before breaking into the Ministry. Draco had heard of the break-in but assumed it was a rumor. He asked why they broke in, and she simply said they wanted to stop what Umbridge was doing – not exactly a lie – and Draco in turn admitted he hated the toad-faced witch and was following her demands around Hogwarts because he was forbidden from opposing the Ministry.

Hermione also admitted that her parents left the country – she didn’t say that she erased their memories – and that yes, obviously, Ron was not actually home sick with spattergroit as the Ministry believed. She told him she didn’t know where the Weasleys were hiding – which was true, since she suspected they relocated from the Burrow after Bill and Fleur’s wedding. She rattled off a list of known Order members for Draco’s benefit, but didn’t recite any names he hadn’t already expected, and she knew they were all in hiding anyway.

Meanwhile, Draco told her more about the situation at Hogwarts. The Carrow siblings had all but taken over the school and implemented ridiculous rules and punishments. Most student privileges were removed, and the older students were forced to perform curses against anyone caught doing something “wrong.” Cruciatus Curses were commonly used in detentions, which were given for menial reasons. Draco gritted his teeth when he talked about how Crabbe and Goyle were having the time of their lives, and Hermione went pale. Cursed quills aside, even Hogwarts under Umbridge hadn’t been this bad.

Both were equally satisfied with their newfound information and impressed with the other’s perceptions, even though they didn’t say so. By the end of the day they didn't feel uncomfortable sitting side by side on Draco’s bed.

*** *** ***

It wasn’t until after eleven when Draco Summoned his dark hooded robes from the closet that Hermione became fully silent. She knew he was about to play Death Eater and he’d be facing Voldemort’s inquiries directly. She realized she was quite nervous for his fate in addition to her own.

“I dunno how long I’ll be gone,” Draco muttered. Now that their game was over, he returned to not making eye contact with her. “I don’t have any more Dreamless Sleep, but you should try and sleep anyway. We have to do this again tomorrow.” _If I’m still alive._ She merely nodded in response.

He rummaged through a drawer and tossed a T-shirt at her. She accepted it wordlessly and watched him stiffly exit the room. As the door closed behind him, she realized there was a tiny chance she’d never see him again, and she was suddenly terrified. She never expected her only ally to be Draco Malfoy.

*** *** ***

The lack of Dreamless Sleep made the nightmares come back. Hermione jerked awake covered in sweat and nearly fell to the floor. Images of her friends’ deathly still bodies and the ghostly sensation of an ice-cold knife against her throat slowly faded as she rubbed her eyes. Her chest ached as she wished for Harry’s warm hand or Ron’s comforting arm.

She glanced across the huge bed with a flash of relief. Draco had returned; he was asleep and half-buried by the covers. He obviously stayed close to his edge, but she briefly wondered if he intended to reach for her at one point during the night because his arm was stretched out, palm up, in her direction. She almost snorted aloud and shook her bushy head at the very idea of Malfoy trying to comfort her.

His sleeping face was turned towards her and she studied it in the moonlight. The weight of his angry outburst still sat in her chest; she looked at the smooth contours of his hollowed cheeks dotted with half-healed cuts and wondered how much weight he’d lost since the war started. He clearly hadn’t been sleeping and she doubted he was eating well either. He’d been through so much … she couldn’t help but pity him.

She slowly drifted back to sleep, trying to connect the strange man next to her with the skinny eleven-year-old bully who insinuated she was hiding a toad in her hair.

*** *** ***

Over the next two isolated days, Draco slowly “tortured” more information out of Hermione with the stepping game. She described some of the places they’d camped – she knew Harry would never return to the same ones – and confirmed that they’d been to Godric’s Hollow. She hinted that she and Harry hadn’t retrieved what they hoped to find in the town and suggested Harry might go back to search again. She hoped Voldemort would waste time posting several Death Eaters in the vicinity.

Hermione also decided to slip that she and the boys had been looking for _something_ ; she simply said, “a weapon that might defeat You-Know-Who.” She hinted they were looking into Voldemort’s past to try and learn more about him and intended to search places like the orphanage where he lived or Borgin and Burke’s where he’d worked; she didn’t say they’d already ruled these places out.

Draco in turn admitted that he mostly had no idea what Voldemort was up to apart from wanting to control the Ministry, purify Hogwarts, rid the country of Mudbloods, and create a veritable army of loyal followers. He did suspect that Voldemort was looking for something to do with wands due to his obsession with Ollivander – Hermione didn’t let on that they already knew this. Draco also talked about the underground resistance movement at Hogwarts and hinted that Neville Longbottom was probably running the whole thing. Hermione internally beamed with pride for her friend, knowing she’d be right beside him if she could. She hoped Ginny was staying safe but suspected the youngest Weasley was also helping Neville round up old DA members to defend the younger students.

Satisfied with the exchange of information, the two spent an evening in quiet study of various books. Hermione was surprised both with his patience to sit and read, and at his extensive collection. He owned an expected array of books about the Dark Arts and Quidditch, but also a pleasant mixture of wizarding fiction, textbooks from their earlier Hogwarts years, and Potions theory books she’d never heard of.

She was partway through _Experimental Sleeping Potions_ when Draco rose and Summoned his robe to meet the Death Eaters. She offered him a small smile of confidence, which she was shocked to see him return, however slightly.

Draco shrugged on his robe and tried to keep his breathing steady. At the last meeting Voldemort hadn’t bothered much with the minimal information Draco revealed, possibly because Voldemort didn’t put any value on a Mudblood’s word in the first place. He only cared that Draco didn’t let her escape; they had much more important concerns than one abandoned Mudblood who couldn’t confirm Potter’s location.

But Draco feared tonight’s meeting would be different. He was supposed to return to Hogwarts tomorrow, and they wouldn’t simply ignore Granger’s continued existence. They would probably take her away before he left. Draco didn’t tell Hermione that she was done for if Voldemort decided she had no further use. He tried not to imagine that _he_ might be asked to kill her and dared to imagine instead that he could take her with him to Hogwarts where they would at least be under the threat of fewer Death Eaters.

It was nearly impossible to remain hopeful; Granger made it look too easy with her bright eyes and confident little voice.

His pale face was paler than ever as he slipped out the door.

*** *** ***

The pounding feet coming down the corridor shocked Hermione out of her mental calculations and when the door flew open to reveal both Draco and Lucius, she jumped to her feet from her armchair and instinctively reached for her non-existent wand.

“… going to happen, it’s too late!” Lucius was thundering.

“Father, I can get more out of her–”

“There is nothing useful she can reveal, and I will no longer let you control the fate of this family!” Hermione scrambled away as Lucius came at her, but the tall man was much quicker and seized her upper arm. She instinctively kicked at him as he dragged her to the door, but he twisted her arm behind her back, ignoring her noise of pain as her body was forced flush against him. Draco faced them, furiously blocking the exit.

“I took this task, Father, and I can break her! She’s the only real link we have to catching Potter–”

“You haven’t been able to break her yet, boy, and any information you’ve squeezed out of her is all but useless to the Dark Lord now! You will return to school tomorrow as he instructed and stay _out_ of this!” Hermione could feel the anger vibrating through the terrifying man behind her, and she had a sudden flashback to the day the Snatchers caught her. Was there a chance she would be given to Greyback, as Bellatrix hinted?

Draco read the terror in Hermione’s eyes; it was much worse than the day she was first captured. If Lucius took her away right now, Draco would no longer be responsible for her. It would be easy to let her go … what difference would it make what happened to her? He and Narcissa would be guiltless …

But he, too, remembered that Greyback coveted her, and he couldn’t imagine the horrors awaiting her if she left his room now. She was still his rival, a Mudblood, but over the past few days Draco had come to realize she was human, too. More human than most of _his_ side. If he let her die, Potter wouldn’t let the Malfoys live …

Draco clenched his hands into fists so tight he was glad he’d bitten his nails down or he would have bloody palms. _Think_ …

“Father I– I want to take her with me. Torturing her here won’t be any good, and we shouldn’t kill her; she still knows things. At Hogwarts I can threaten her differently. I can drag in some little first-year Gryffindor and torture _them_ to make her talk …” Hermione tried not to take him seriously but the look in Draco’s eyes was surprisingly violent.

“It’s too late, boy.” Lucius cut him off. “She goes to the Dark Lord. Now!” Lucius started to drag Hermione past Draco. She struggled pointlessly against the older man’s upper body strength and tried hard to summon her Gryffindor courage. She glanced back at Draco desperately.

“Father, wait–” Lucius stopped and glared at his son furiously.

“ _What_ is your obsession with this Mudblood? Why do you care what happens to her?”

Draco swallowed. “I don’t, Father, but I’m concerned about letting an opportunity go to waste.”

“What opportunity?” Lucius spat.

“I think …” Draco put on his most determined look and faced his father as an equal. “I think we should use her as bait.”

*** *** ***

The surprise arrival of Lupin to Shell Cottage with the news of his baby son and the announcement of Harry as godfather brought Harry a piece of joy he never expected.

Ron put on a smile for Lupin that only Harry – and perhaps Luna – knew was faked. In the hustle and bustle of his short visit, Lupin didn’t seem to notice Hermione’s absence.

Ron was able to speak coherently again by the third or fourth day, and he determinedly helped Harry plan the Gringotts break-in. As much as he knew Ron was equally focused on ridding the world of Voldemort, Harry also knew he had Luna to thank for Ron’s revival to reality. She sat with them almost constantly, not minding that they couldn’t handle a proper conversation. She simply kept them company and occasionally talked about things that required no response on their part.

Harry spent time wandering the cliffs and sitting at Dobby’s headstone deep in thought, but Ron couldn’t be convinced to leave the cottage most days. Luna sat with him patiently, chatting about Hogwarts and what she’d been learning in her sixth year. She didn’t mind when Ron drifted off or didn’t reply to her rhetorical questions, until one day he turned to look at her directly and said,

“We saw that crown thing. It would’ve looked good on you.”

*** *** ***

Lucius stared at his son as Draco confidently outlined his plan, praying Lucius wouldn’t suspect he was improvising.

“I take her back to Hogwarts with me and I keep her in my dorm where she can’t get out. The door’s enchanted so it’s as good as a prison cell. Between me and Blaise we can arrange our schedules so one of us is always watching her. We know the Dark Lord expects to face Potter at Hogwarts” – Hermione drew in a breath – “but Potter’s been avoiding the school, right? So, we use _her_ to lure him there. When the Dark Lord is ready, he uses his, er– mind … Legilimency– he tells Potter we’re holding his Mudblood hostage at the castle, and it brings Potter right where the Dark Lord wants him.” Lucius regarded his pale son carefully, missing the tremor in Draco’s hands.

The older man knew the Dark Lord successfully lured Potter with the supposed torture of his godfather several years ago. Draco was right; Potter wouldn’t risk losing someone else. And yet … “If Potter cared so much about this girl, he wouldn’t have left her behind. That will not work.” Hermione felt a few tears fall, despite herself.

“When you were unconscious, she screamed at them to go, Father, and I saw Aunt Bella throw her knife at them. They had no choice leaving her.” Lucius considered, but his brow was still furrowed. Would Potter fall for such a trick twice?

Draco desperately went on. “If she dies now, we can’t use her. I’ve seen her with Potter, they’re inseparable. Most of Hogwarts thought they were in _love_. He wouldn’t pass on another attempt to save her, you heard them when they were here – they yelled to take her place. The Dark Lord already knows that Potter’s downfall is how much he cares about his friends, right Father?” Draco paused humbly, looking for verification on Lucius’ face as though he was a boy seeking approval on his homework. He steadfastly ignored Hermione.

It was a long moment, but finally Lucius seemed convinced. He let his grip on Hermione’s arm slacken and he pushed her back towards Draco, who grabbed her by the waist fiercely and pulled her to his side, sneering down at her. “Be grateful I saved your life for now, you little bitch. I can’t wait to show you to Potter covered in that filthy blood.” Hermione wanted to kick him hard, but she reminded herself _this isn’t really him_ and she settled for shooting him a furious glare as she wriggled in his tight grip.

Lucius considered the two of them. “I suppose I can hardly blame you for wanting to personally take revenge on your childhood rivals,” he mused at his son. Draco smirked and tugged Hermione’s hair, evoking a squeal. She could feel his hands shaking as he restrained her, but she maintained her outward anger.

“I will update our Lord on your plan and ask Severus to ensure you have safe passage directly to the dungeons, so nobody sees her. As you heard tonight, he is in the process of brewing more Veritaserum which should be ready within the week, and you will feed it to her in case she’s hiding more in that bushy head.” Lucius stepped closer to the pair, the epitome of intimidation. Hermione tried not to shrink backwards into Draco’s grip.

“You _will_ keep your owl on hand so you can inform me instantly if something goes wrong. You _will_ keep your wand away from her, and you and Blaise Zabini will take _full_ responsibility if she escapes that room. Do – you – understand – me?” Lucius’ voice went up, and the look he gave them both made Hermione tremble. She half-faked a terrified expression and said nothing. Draco had told her Lucius was wandless, for which she was grateful right now.

“I understand, Father. You and Mother have nothing to do with her after today.” _Thank Merlin that’s true_. He wanted Narcissa the hell away from all of this, and he wanted Lucius away from Herm – _Granger!_ he chided himself fiercely.

Lucius turned leave the room. Draco grunted at Hermione darkly under his breath, “Stupid, worthless … Mudblood … _girl_ …” He grabbed her wrist and bent it, forcing her to her knees, and she uttered a fake squeal of pain. Lucius smirked as he floated through the door and it slammed behind him.

Immediately, Draco let out a breath and pulled Hermione back to her feet. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t have another choice.” Hermione pulled away from him in anger, choosing to ignore his first apology to her, ever.

“You _knew_ they wanted to attack Hogwarts!? How long have you known?” she screeched at him and he clapped his palm over her mouth to silence her.

“I don’t know if he’s still nearby, listening,” he hissed at her. “I’ve just found out tonight, and I was going to–” She pulled away from his hand, furious.

“Oh I know _exactly_ what you were going to do, you spoiled brat! You were going to slip away quietly and save yourself and abandon your entire school to Unforgivable Curses, and THEN what, exactly? Run away to Italy with Crabbe and Goyle and live out your days happy on the beach?” She smacked his outstretched hand away as he attempted to silence her again. “I thought you were trying to do the _right_ _thing!_ ” She tried to fight back the tears stinging her eyes.

He was furious. She didn’t seem to care he’d just saved her _again_ at significant risk. “You know I’m a _Slytherin!_ I don’t care what you think about the houses! Slytherins only want to protect ourselves, and we are _not_ brave!”

“You were brave enough to fight in this war for your mother!”

“There’s a difference between defending my family and fighting against the entire effing Dark army! I’m not suicidal,” he snapped.

She threw up her hands in frustration and took a few steps away. “Well, this is PERFECT! I finally get to go back to the only home I’ve got left, which is being run by _Death Eaters!_ All my friends in the castle are fighting to stay alive, they have no idea what’s coming, and Draco Malfoy’s gonna– gonna stash me in his cupboard until I’m used to lure my best friend to his _death!_ ” She hadn’t been this hysterical since Ron’s abrupt return after Christmas.

“You know I could just march you back downstairs and hand you to my father and say I’ve changed my mind!” Draco yelled at her. “I could get out of this right now!”

“You don’t have the _guts_ to face your father!” She screamed at him.

“I had the _guts_ to save you from him twice, you ungrateful witch!” He screamed back.

“I dunno why you _bothered!_ You HATE me!” 

“Now I hate you even _more!_ ”

“ _FERRET!_ ”

“ _MUDBLOOD!_ ”

He was halfway towards her to make her shut up and somehow his hands were grasping her by the neck and pulling her as close to him as possible, forcing her lips to crash against his.

*** *** ***

It never occurred to Hermione that Draco Malfoy’s lips could do anything besides sneer. He’d always been so pale, but now fear and anger turned his cheeks dusky pink. His jaw was as smooth as porcelain … had she really said once that his chin was so sharp it could cut parchment?

His ice-white skin suggested his hands would be freezing, but they seemed to be radiating warmth as they gripped the back of her neck firmly. She didn’t intend to kiss him so hard – _had I really intended to kiss him at all?_ – but when she softened the kiss, she felt one of his hands slide down her back while the other gently tugged at her curly hair. Not for the first time, she was astonished Malfoy knew how to be gentle, and some primitive part of her wanted to move closer.

When he crashed into her, her hands had become trapped against his chest. Now she slowly extracted them to reach behind his neck for his hair, which was silky between her fingers. Like a distant memory, she remembered kissing Ron. He made her feel comfortable … Malfoy made her feel _alive_.

Draco inhaled deeply as the kiss slowed and stopped. He was amazed that her sharp tongue hadn’t literally cut into him, as he imagined it would.

Neither of them moved their hands right away. He slowly released her hair and his hand dropped to meet the other at her low back. He blinked a few times and swallowed, not entirely ready to let her warm brown eyes out of his gaze. The angry monster in his chest that wanted to yell and scream at her two minutes ago had vanished.

_I wish I hated her._

*** *** ***

The unexpected kiss had left tension between them of a different kind. They eventually fell asleep, once again on opposite sides of the massive bed but perhaps a little further from the edges than before.

Draco barely slept for fear. He could hardly believe his improvising had worked. The Carrows aside, Hogwarts was the safest place they could be. If only he could take Narcissa along, he wouldn’t have anything left to worry about. His dorm was one of the most secure places in Hogwarts thanks to Snape’s protective enchantments and his trust in Blaise. His only focus now was getting there as fast as possible and not giving Lucius an opportunity to change his mind.

He glanced sideways at the rumple-haired, sleeping girl next to him and tried not to think too hard about why he saved her a second time. He was a Slytherin; he didn’t save anyone unless there was a benefit for him, and he couldn’t be sure there was … was there?

*** *** ***

_A menacing crowd was gathering … why did they want to attack her? She would never harm them … she felt frightened, but she couldn’t remember why … the faces were supposed to be familiar, but something was different–_

_It was dark … far too dark …_

The dream changed.

_She was at Slughorn’s Christmas party. She snuck through the crowd in her uncomfortable shoes, trying to avoid McLaggen and his over-enthusiastic lips. Shouldn’t Harry be here somewhere, with Luna? Surely, they would help her sneak out …_

_She almost crashed into a tall, dark figure. Blaise Zabini sneered down at her, his Slytherin-green dress robes reminding her of poison ivy._

_“I’ve been waiting for a chance to get you alone,” he leered._

_“I’m not alone,” she retorted immediately. Harry was here, he must be–_

_“Yes, you are,” came a familiar drawl from behind her. “You’re alone with us, little Mudblood.” She wanted to turn but she was trapped between them_ –

_The party disappeared and she was suddenly chained to a wall in the empty Potions dungeon. She called out desperately for help, but the Slytherins wore matching smirks as they drew their wands and locked the door–_

*** *** ***


	14. Of Dungeons and Disagreements

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 14: Of Dungeons and Disagreements**

Ron sat in the living room of Shell Cottage with Hermione’s beaded bag on his lap. He barely wanted to look at it; she’d given herself up to save it. It should be _her_ sitting on the sofa with him, not this bloody bag.

And yet, as a symbol of her sacrifice, he could hardly put it down. Ron swallowed and pinched back the tears that threatened to drop for the eight hundredth time. Harry aside, she was the most important person in his life that wasn’t his blood. And he didn’t know if she was alive or dead.

The talisman in his lap had been politely disregarded by everyone else in the house but Harry, who alone understood what it meant and treated it with the same reverence. The others probably assumed it was just one of Hermione’s belongings that he and Harry now held sacred in her memory– _NO._ He thought fiercely. _I don’t need to hold her in my memory because she’s NOT DEAD._

Ron must’ve been buried deeply in his own mind. He didn’t notice someone sit next to him until warm fingers began to soften his vice-like grip on the bag.

He followed the fingers up a pale arm and met Luna’s ice-blue eyes. He wanted to turn away, but her gaze drew him in like a beacon. Ron barely made eye contact with anyone for days. Though Luna’s piercing eyes were intense, he felt an odd sense of calm as she studied him carefully but with no hint of judgment.

Harry had told them about Luna’s bedroom, the paintings of her five classmates and the golden word _friends_ linking them. Trusting people outside his own family these days was next to impossible, so Ron’s burst of affection towards the eccentric Ravenclaw surprised him. He hadn’t known her long, but he believed she’d sooner rip off her own arm and feed it to a Blast-Ended Skrewt than betray them. She’d endured weeks – maybe months – of imprisonment and her eyes still shone with more life and hope than anyone else.

“You will see her again,” Luna said softly. Ron’s grip retightened around the beaded bag.

“You don’t know that–” he managed. She covered the back of his hand with her own and gave a gentle squeeze.

“Friends always know,” she answered. “Loads of people said Harry Potter was going to get captured or killed, but I knew they were wrong. Neville’s still at Hogwarts, and I know he’s still fighting. Hermione’s stronger than any of us, except maybe Harry. She’ll hang on.”

“If they’re still torturing her–”

“I don’t believe Draco will let that happen.”

Ron snorted. “He’s probably taking turns with Bellatrix and his father. Malfoy family game night: Torture the Mudblood–” his tears threatened to spill over, and he suddenly felt both of Luna’s hands on his now.

“I don’t think so,” Luna said quietly. “Did you know you can see someone’s soul through their eyes?”

Ron had no patience to argue; he often found Luna’s ramblings endearing but now wasn’t the time for nonsense. “Malfoy never looks at anybody–”

“Exactly.” He looked at her again. “He’s afraid somebody will notice his soul isn’t what you’d expect. It’s strong, like Harry’s. And Hermione’s. She’s got one of the strongest souls, you know, and I think she can help Draco Malfoy see his.”

Ron couldn’t think of a reply, but Luna continued, “Your soul is strong too, Ronald. You’re just too worried right now to remember that. But you will.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, stood, and danced from the room, leaving a pink and confused Ron in her wake.

*** *** ***

Draco quietly informed Hermione they would be leaving at noon, and suggested she take advantage of the shower beforehand as he wouldn’t be able to let her out of his dorm once they returned to Hogwarts. She ate breakfast slowly and indulged with a shower, barely remembering that he could violate her privacy if he chose and deciding she trusted him suitably.

She examined herself carefully in the mirror. Little red marks still dotted her arms and cheeks, and a few bruises remained on her neck along with some cuts beginning to scab, but she certainly looked much better than she had several days ago. With the reintroduction of consistent meals along with Draco’s Blood Replenishing Potions she looked pink and healthy for the first time in months. She didn’t sleep well, but she was astonished that having a steady presence in the same bed was more reassuring than none. Malfoy wasn’t exactly her friend yet, but he never harmed her and he was the best she had right now.

The past few days had been some of the most confusing Hermione had ever experienced, having been unexpectedly thrown into a place where she had a comfortable bed and shower, untold anxiety because she was separated from her friends who probably thought she was dead, and she’d been – mostly – civilly interacting with her old enemy who saved her life. She probably knew him nearly as well as Neville or Ginny now, and then there was that kiss …

She gingerly touched her lips. It had been such a brief time but the change in him was astonishing. When they were alone he no longer sneered at her; he asked if she was hungry, he followed up on her post-torture pain, and he even brought beef stew for dinner one night after learning through the stepping game that it was one of her favourites.

Still, his past behaviour could hardly excuse him completely and she wished she knew if he’d turn on her before the war was over. She’d believed Snape was on their side, too, and the man went and killed _Dumbledore._

Hermione settled herself into the armchair again with a book as Draco took his turn in the bathroom, but she couldn’t process the words on the page. The reality of going back to Hogwarts felt like a heavenly blessing, yet she was torn. She could try and abandon Malfoy and make for the one-eyed witch passageway, or even for Gryffindor Tower, but part of her wanted to keep him safe from Voldemort’s wrath by remaining his prisoner. It didn’t take her usual level of genius to know Malfoy would suffer harsh consequences if she managed to get away from him, and he didn’t deserve it.

For all her strengths, Hermione knew she wasn’t the best judge of character. She’d been wrong about Ron when she first met him, and Ginny as well. Hermione originally assumed the youngest Weasley was just like Lavender Brown, except mindlessly starstruck with Harry, but Ginny was brave, intelligent, and exactly what Hermione’s adoptive brother needed. Should the war end the way she barely dared to hope, Hermione wanted little more than Harry to find happiness with Ginny Weasley.

 _Could I have been wrong about Malfoy, too?_ He was a bully, yes, but Ron once bullied her, too. So many of Malfoy’s actions had been coerced by others– her thoughts were cut short by the bathroom door opening.

Draco ran his fingers through his damp hair. He could tell Hermione wasn’t really reading the book she was holding, and her left hand was gripping the arm of the chair rather tightly. He found himself wanting to stroke her soft hair again and tell her she didn’t need to be worried, that they had time. He could find a way to …

 _What? Get her out? Save her from being bait? Be the dashing hero?_ Draco shook his damp head at himself. She was stuck with him for now, and he needed to keep his head on straight. He couldn’t risk kissing her again; the cunning witch did something to his emotional stability. He was balancing on a dangerous ledge; he’d managed to protect her and fool the others, but if he lost his balance he was done for.

All he could do now was hope Potter could miraculously defeat the Dark Lord before they needed her. Otherwise, he knew he would be faced with the hardest choice of his life: betray Hermione Granger – and the rest of his school – or betray his family.

*** *** ***

It was nearly time to leave. They weren’t using the stepping game for information, so Hermione boldly asked Draco outright, “How much do you trust Blaise Zabini?”

Draco had asked Snape to fill in his roommate, as he was still concerned about owling his friend directly and compromising his home location. For all his failures, Draco still managed to keep his best friend off the Dark Lord’s recruitment list. He tented his fingers under his chin as he considered his prisoner. “I didn’t grow up with him like Greg and Vince, but I trust him more than them. He’s much smarter than they are.”

“Your father said he … he’s supposed to watch me, too?” her voice was small.

“We share a dorm. There aren’t many students at Hogwarts this year and Father arranged with Snape to have me share with just Blaise instead of four others. Our door’s enchanted so only the two of us can open it.” Hermione bit her lip and Draco redirected his gaze to the fireplace. He didn’t like this look on her. He was used to a confident, haughty, know-it-all Granger and such a timid look on her face made him uncomfortable.

Perhaps she was concerned that Blaise would want to torture her where Draco had resisted? “Blaise isn’t a Death Eater,” Draco said reassuringly, though he kept his eyes on the fire. “His father’s dead and his mother lives in Italy, so the Dark Lord doesn’t even technically know him. His only job is to make sure you stay put when I’m not there.”

Hermione only relaxed her stressed grip a little. She’d barely interacted with Zabini before Slughorn’s dinners the previous year and only knew him to be a slightly quieter version of Malfoy. He seemed to harbour the same ideals and pure-blood standards but with a much more stoic and reserved exterior. She hadn’t spoken with him directly, but when they were part of the same conversation circles at the Slug Club gatherings, she did recall that Zabini was more intelligent than he let on, certainly more than Crabbe or Goyle.

Her nightmare plagued her thoughts though she tried to remain logical. She didn’t have as negative a history with Zabini as she had with Malfoy, and she’d managed a positive breakthrough with the blond. She decided if a Gryffindor like Peter Pettigrew could become a Death Eater, surely a couple Slytherin teens could fight for the right side.

Hermione’s grip on her chair tightened when a knock sounded at the door. Draco waved off her look of panic; the knock was so tame it could only be one person. He opened the door on Narcissa’s face, which was full of anxiety that only Draco could see behind her calm alabaster expression and greying hair. Narcissa merely glanced at Hermione before nonverbally gesturing Draco to accompany her somewhere. Draco exited after her and pulled the door closed behind him.

Hermione’s burst of panic settled into confusion. Malfoy’s mother didn’t seem to care that her son’s captive was sitting comfortably with a book and a cup of tea rather than writhing in pain on his floor or tied up in the corner.

She recalled with a pang that Narcissa had identified her in the drawing room as _the Mudblood with Potter_ but the conversation she overheard between mother and son later that night suggested the woman’s primary concern was her son’s welfare. If Hermione were no threat to Draco, perhaps Narcissa would remain indifferent.

*** *** ***

Draco closed the spare room door behind them and followed his mother into the large attached closet. Their conversation would not be overheard.

She jumped right to business: “When you receive notice, you must bring the girl to the front of the castle to lure Potter out. There’s a chance he will go to the school on his own, but the Dark Lord doesn’t believe Potter will willingly surrender unless we directly threaten one of his close friends.” She looked at her son’s pale cheeks and sighed. “I know this isn’t what you want. I never expected you to take such responsibility–”

“I shouldn’t’ve–”

“But you did,” She pressed a cool finger to his lips. “You showed more courage than I or your father have been capable of, and I’m proud of you, my brave dragon.” She hadn’t called him _her brave dragon_ since he was eleven years old and afraid to begin school. He’d never forget how she stroked his hair until he fell asleep while she recited _The Elemental Mage_ in her soothing voice.

“Mother, it was for nothing if I have to kill her, and if I can’t save you–”

“That’s enough. I am not yours to save, my son. It was my job to protect _you_ and now …” she would not cry. He knew she wouldn’t. “Now you must protect yourself. And the girl … you know she’s better off–” she abruptly cut herself short.

“Yes,” he knew what his mother didn’t want to say aloud. If it came to the worst, he could kill Granger mercifully instead of torturing her to death or letting Greyback tear her apart. Biting his tongue hard, Draco handed Narcissa her wand. He’d coerced Lucius into giving him a different one they recovered.

She shook her head and made him return it to his pocket. “You will be needing this. You’re taking it to school.” Draco shook his head furiously.

“I can’t leave you defenceless,” he argued. “You’re here with _them!_ ”

“You know where this is going, darling. They will come to _you_ , and you need to be ready. My wand protects you.” He shook his head again, fighting back tears. Narcissa was everything to him. Far more important than a former rival he kissed once–

“The Dark Lord has little use for me or your father now, especially as we are both wandless,” she reminded him softly. “We’ll be here, out of harm’s way, and you need to be my brave dragon and find your way back to us.”

“Mother, I can’t …” She stopped him with a kiss on his forehead, which she had to stretch to reach. Draco couldn’t form words. He didn’t care that her hands were ice-cold on his cheeks. He could be strong for her before, but his emotionally-controlled brick wall was barely holding … _What’s happening to me?_

As she hugged him close, he felt a single tear splash onto his collar, and he tried to absorb her whispered parting words before she swept herself from the room.

*** *** ***

Next to the fireplace in his study, Lucius murmured that Snape bypassed the rule that said all students must return to school on the train. He ensured Draco would be the first to return so the Slytherin dorms would be empty on their arrival; the Floo would remain open for just a few minutes to let them through without the Carrows finding out. Lucius was relieved since the brother-sister team didn’t need to get in his son’s way, and Draco was relieved for a whole host of other reasons.

Lucius hissed one last warning about never letting the Mudblood out of his sight. Draco nodded his understanding; he was just grateful his father was still allowing them to leave.

He tightened his grip on Hermione’s arm, threw the Floo powder, and dragged her with him into the fireplace. He was forced to press her tightly against his chest in the cramped space. He hoped she couldn’t feel his rapidly beating heart, and even more, he hoped Lucius didn’t see the way his arms were shaking around her.

“Slytherin House, Hogwarts!” Draco yelled and the heat from the green flames whisked them away.

*** *** ***

Hermione was disappointed that the Floo dropped them directly in the Slytherin common room. She didn’t know where exactly in the dungeons it was situated, so sneaking out would be difficult even if she managed to slip her captors.

Draco didn’t release his grip on her as he strode across the low, dark common room towards the dormitories. As promised, they met no one. Hermione attempted once to turn and locate a door out of the room – unlike Harry and Ron, she’d never seen this place before – but he picked her up so swiftly it startled a gasp out of her. Despite the healthy food he fed her over the past week, she was still light in his arms.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled at her. He wished his mother’s wand were back at the Manor with her, but he focused on the reassuring presence of the two wands in his pocket as he climbed a few stairs and went down a long corridor to the very end. He mentally thanked Snape for the enchantments preventing the other Slytherins from sneaking in. His grip on her tightened as he tried to bypass the thought of Crabbe and Goyle stumbling across the imprisoned witch.

Hermione glanced around the room as Draco set her down. Two beds took up most of the space, but each side of the room had a desk and small wardrobe painted black with silver edgings. The curtains and rug were Slytherin green, and a small window between the beds offered a distant view of the Quidditch pitch. They appeared to be situated near ground-level, but Hermione suspected she wouldn’t fit through the small window even if she could break it open. She would need to steal a wand to get out.

One desk had haphazard piles of half-completed homework strewn about, with stacks of textbooks piled in the adjacent corner. Hermione had spent enough time with Draco to know his side of the room must be the neater of the two. She perched at the end of his bed and started to think.

*** *** ***

The two old rivals weren’t in the small dorm for long before they started rowing again. Hermione was trying to convince Malfoy that if he let her go, she could help him join the right side and keep him safe. She desperately wanted to know if he’d help her further or betray her at the first sign of trouble.

“The Dark Lord has the most supporters, _and_ he controls the Ministry and the school, so he’s gonna win the damned war,” Draco punched the mattress angrily; he was trying to be realistic no matter how much he hated the impending outcome. “Your escape won’t change anything, and you haven’t got the power to keep _anyone_ safe, so you might as well sit back and let the bloody war happen!”

“If you’re so sure he’s going to win, why didn’t you identify Harry?” Hermione shot back.

“I told you, just because he’s a prick, it doesn’t mean I wanted to literally be responsible for his death!” Draco started pacing. “Look, Granger, you’ll just have to accept I’m right. You’re Muggle-born, I’m pure-blood, and that’s it! You’re only alive because of me; you wouldn’t survive a week out there!” Hermione thought she could feel her very patience draining out of her body, but she was so tired of fighting with him.

“You know perfectly well that blood status doesn’t matter,” she responded, still angry but kinder than she would’ve spoken to him a month ago. “You act like this because it’s how your father taught you to act, but I _know_ you know better. You’ve all but admitted I’m cleverer than you, and I know you’ve grown to trust me. You even cleaned my so-called dirty blood off my hands! You can’t be _that_ ignorant, Malfoy.”

He refused to answer her. Blood status or not, he couldn’t join her side; he was a traitor to them. Even saving her wouldn’t make up for the torture he caused … would it? He saved her at first hoping it might make a difference, but now he wasn’t so sure. _The Dark Lord wouldn’t forgive; why would the Order?_ He was afraid to find out. If the Dark Lord lost, he could very well face a lifetime in Azkaban for all the people he tortured.

“Perhaps you once believed everything you’ve said,” Hermione continued. “I’m nothing because of my blood, and you’re everything because of yours? Perhaps you once believed that my cleverness is just an anomaly among _Mudbloods_ , or perhaps the Weasleys are anomalies among pure-bloods, but I think you know better now, don’t you?” There was a pause. “It’s _your_ family that’s the anomaly, Draco,” she finished softly.

Draco just swallowed. He couldn’t deny she might be right. Like Dumbledore, like Blaise, she was trying to give him another choice. All his life, he’d been given only _one_ choice. His mother’s last words to him rang in his head, and he was terrified. Being told what to do was easy; making his own choice would be _impossible_. How did the bloody Gryffindors manage it?

Hermione didn’t say anything else. After a little while she heard him stop pacing and sink into his desk chair. “How’d everything change so fast?” he muttered.

She replied gently, “It wasn’t fast. I think you’ve known all this for a long time, and this is the first opportunity someone offered you to challenge the truth you’ve always believed.” She heard him take a deep breath. “I can’t get out of here,” she said softly. “I won’t ask you again to let me go, because I believe you’ll do the right thing when the time comes.”

_And what’s the “right thing,” Granger?_

*** *** ***


	15. Of Daring and Deliberation

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 15: Of Daring and Deliberation**

A while later, Hermione lay on the bed staring at the ceiling and thinking. Draco silently filtered through the contents of his desk and occasionally scratched a quill on parchment. She felt a surge of jealousy that even though they were at war, he could still learn. She wondered if she could borrow some of the books he wasn’t using.

The door opened and Hermione sat up quickly. Draco looked over lazily as Blaise Zabini stalked in. He closed the door and smirked at the sight of Hermione.

“Been a while since you had a girl in bed, Draco, I was getting worried.” Draco tossed a ball of parchment at his friend’s head with a grin. Blaise sat at his own desk but spun in the chair to study Hermione. She watched him with equal interest, thinking about her limited experience with this Slytherin.

“So, we’re the Dark Lord’s prison wardens now, then.” Blaise drawled. He tilted his head at Hermione, taking in her figure. “I suppose Draco and I must finally learn to share?” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him challengingly and Blaise replied with a teasing smirk. Confused, she reflected again on Slughorn’s parties. Zabini had been a solemn figure who only spoke when spoken to. She wondered if he was always this relaxed around Draco, or if he was having her on.

Draco simply replied, “We’re just the babysitters. She doesn’t leave the room.”

Blaise shrugged. “Should be easy enough. What happens when they come for her?” Draco said nothing, but Hermione heard his quill stop moving.

“I don’t know yet,” he finally answered slowly. Blaise knew the tone.

“So, care to enlighten me to the– er … _sleeping_ arrangements?” Blaise asked sweetly. Hermione groaned and buried her face in a pillow. _Her_ teenage boys didn’t tease like this, and she wasn’t used to it. Blaise laughed. “Relax, Granger. I’m only curious if Draco’s gentlemanly enough to offer you a bed or if we should throw some cloaks in the corner.”

“She stays with me,” Draco said sharply, not entirely sure why this behaviour – perfectly normal for Blaise – bothered him so much.

*** *** ***

Hermione chose to sit quietly on Draco’s bed observing the boys while they worked. They occasionally spoke back and forth about their assignments. From what she gathered, Draco was better at Potions and Herbology, Blaise was better at Transfiguration, and they were both lousy at Charms but unwilling to admit it. Finally, Hermione grew bored and decided she didn’t care anymore about drawing attention to herself. She slipped around Draco’s chair to steal one of his books. Draco’s eyes followed her but, to Blaise’s surprise, he didn’t protest.

Hermione happily studied _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 7_. She was disappointed now that she hadn’t bought her own copy, as the book described several protection charms that might’ve been helpful during the horcrux hunt.

Thinking about Harry and Ron had been agonizing over the past few days, and she wouldn’t allow herself to cry in front of Draco if she could help it. Now stuck with _two_ Slytherin guards she was even less inclined to become emotional, especially since one was a complete mystery to her. She firmly took Harry and Ron’s faces and shoved them down, keeping her Gryffindor courage and determination to study at the forefront of her mind.

Draco and Blaise seemed to nonverbally agree to stop working at the same time and both extinguished their lights. Like before, Draco tossed Hermione a large T-shirt, but there was no bathroom attached to this room. She drew the curtain on one side of the bed and changed as quickly as she could.

She could hear the boys’ whispered voices as they changed, and she heard Draco tell Blaise to keep his wand under his pillow. Hermione wondered how good her escape options were; the bed here was smaller than the Manor and since Draco barely slept, she’d be hard-pressed to make it halfway to the door without him noticing.

Draco came around the curtains and looked sideways at her. “You’re gonna behave yourself, right Granger?”

Before she could stop herself, she spat, “I could ask the same of you two.” Draco rolled his eyes as he crawled under the covers.

“I thought you were used to camping out with two boys. You might be a swotty virgin, but you can’t tell me you never got in bed with Weasel or Potty. Urgh _._ ” he shivered.

A sad reminder of their comforting arms around her almost made Hermione tear up. She pushed aside the memory fiercely and replied, “I’m not a prude, Malfoy, but I’m not stupid, either. I might know you better now, but I barely know him at all.”

Draco’s eyes were already closed. “Blaise likes to tease but he has more restraint than most teenage boys, if the snakes around here are any indication. He won’t lay a finger on you.”

“I suppose neither of you would touch a Mudblood anyway,” she muttered under her breath. She was surprised when Draco opened his eyes to glare at her.

“I don’t care what assumptions you have about me, witch, but I _won’t_ have you insulting my friend. I thought you were above that, Granger.” Hermione opened her mouth to reply but Draco closed his eyes again and turned away, leaving Hermione feeling very much alone and confused.

*** *** ***

The next morning Blaise babysat Hermione while Draco went to class, and she had a better opportunity to study the mystery Slytherin out the corner of her eye. Like Draco he seemed to have lost weight in the last year, but he was significantly less depressed than his friend. She wondered if he normally had a teasing personality; he reminded her of the Weasley twins a little when he bantered casually with Malfoy. She didn’t expect the stoic boy who half-heartedly participated in the Slug Club to have a bit of a fun side.

The boys switched guard duty for the afternoon. It seemed commonplace for them to bring food back from meals as one of them always returned with enough stacks of toast or sandwiches for all three of them. The boys traded notes when they finished their lessons; Hermione supposed having a Death Eater for a Headmaster meant that the professors weren’t allowed to question the boys’ absence in half their classes. She wondered begrudgingly what other kinds of privileges the Slytherins might have over the other houses.

Draco tried to focus on his Herbology essay, but his anxiety level was too high. He thought getting back to Hogwarts would make him less nervous, but he half-expected an owl to come at any moment. Even if they weren’t ready to use her to lure Potter, he could receive instruction to torture more information out of her. He already knew there was nothing else she was willing to relinquish peacefully and he dreaded the day he’d be forced to give her Veritaserum.

He reluctantly imagined what would happen if he tried to torture her now.

_“Tell me what you know, Granger.”_

_“No.”_

_He points his wand at her. “Care to taste the Cruciatus Curse again?”_

_“You won’t do it, Malfoy, because you need to MEAN it, and you don’t hate me anymore.” He hesitates and she smiles that sideways grin that means, “I told you so.”_

_He doesn’t lower his wand, but she slides closer. “You don’t hate me, Draco. Remember how nice it was when you kissed me?” she reaches her arms around his neck. “How could you possibly hate me–”_

Draco led his head slip to the desk and groaned inwardly. He was doomed.

*** *** ***

By the middle of the afternoon Hermione had completed the _Standard Book of Spells_ and needed something new. She went over to Draco’s desk to return the book. He raised an eyebrow. “Finished already?”

“It was hard to put down. I haven’t had new school material for quite a while.” Draco considered her for a moment before relinquishing his desk chair.

“I’ll read on the bed for a while, you can use whatever you want. Keep yourself busy.” Hermione’s mouth opened slightly in surprise.

“I … thank you.”

Draco flopped against the pillows. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re occupied, you won’t annoy me.” Hermione smiled to herself. She wouldn’t retort if it meant she could learn the seventh-year material. She sat and eagerly started flipping through _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_.

Blaise entered the dorm a while later and raised an eyebrow as he took in Draco lounging on the bed, his book now abandoned, and Hermione fervently making notes at his desk.

“I know Malfoys get everything, mate, but a personal homework slave?” Draco sniggered and Hermione glared at them both.

“Malfoys always have the _best_ ,” Draco drawled in Hermione’s direction. Blaise laughed at her expression; she clearly couldn’t decide if she should be insulted or not. Her cheeks went pink and she returned to her parchment. Blaise kicked off his shoes and crawled onto his bed with a sigh.

“How bad was it today?” Draco murmured. Hermione’s quill stopped moving.

Blaise rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Carrow caught three Ravenclaw fourth years trying to break into the Headmaster’s office and they sent me and Nott to use Stinging Jinxes on all their palms until they were red and swollen. One tried to pick up her bag afterwards and her skin split open.” Neither Draco nor Hermione moved. “On the plus side, Nott and I both got top marks for Defence thanks to that little incident,” Blaise added bitterly.

“Why’d they try to break in?” Draco asked in a voice that attempted to be indifferent. Blaise shrugged.

“They’re not the first, so we can only guess. Maybe they’re trying to hex Snape or something, but it wouldn’t’ve done much good ‘cause apparently he wasn’t here.”

Hermione turned around at that. “Snape isn’t here?”

“No, he’s been shockingly absent this year. I figured he’d be all over his new mantle of power, but it’s like there’s no Headmaster at all, honestly. When he is here, he just sorta floats around and makes threats, like usual.” Blaise leaned up to glance at Hermione’s work in progress. “Doing Draco’s Charms essay for him? Wanna do mine next?”

Hermione rolled her eyes but then answered softly, “Just trying to learn something while I’m here. I’ve missed the entire year, after all.”

Draco snorted. “You could take the NEWTs tomorrow and beat all of us. I know when you had that anti-Umbridge group in fifth year you used a Protean Charm to make those secret Galleons. I practiced for a bloody month before I could make it work.” Hermione went a tiny bit pink and pretended to ignore him.

Blaise sat up straighter. “Is that true, Granger? I’ve been having trouble with that one and we only learned it this year.” Hermione nodded slowly and Blaise looked impressed. “Bloody hell, I always wondered if you just memorized stuff to sound clever, but you’re actually … clever.”

Blaise stood and moved towards the desk. He held out his wand to her. Hermione’s eyes opened wide and Draco immediately leapt to his feet. “Are you _insane?!_ ”

“She can’t go anywhere. It’s seven o’clock and the common room’s full. She’d never make it to the door; everybody knows what she looks like. She can be useful and teach us things while she’s here.” Hermione gulped but took Blaise’s wand from him. She was surprised it felt slightly warm to her hand.

“Go ahead, Granger. Show us you’re not just talk.” Blaise challenged with a very Slytherin-like smirk. He leaned against the door casually, but she understood the body language.

_Not necessary. If they learn to trust me with a wand, I’ll wait until their guards are down._

Draco sat on the edge of his bed, but he had his hand in his pocket and she knew he was gripping his mother’s wand. “No funny business, Granger.” He growled at her.

Hermione relished in the comfort of holding a wand, even though it wasn’t her own. She closed her eyes briefly and drew in a breath. Deciding to awe her small audience, she stood and carefully summoned a memory of Harry, Ron, and Ginny laughing together at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Her wispy otter shot out the end of the wand in a cloud of silver mist and began swimming in playful circles around Draco, who sat frozen in shock. Blaise’s jaw dropped.

Hermione smirked at them both and reached out to pat her otter before it faded away.

*** *** ***

For the rest of the evening the boys quizzed Hermione on Charms and she answered almost all their questions, referring to Draco’s neat stack of books for the occasional NEWT spell she hadn’t yet learned. Draco mostly lounged on his bed listening and watching as he tossed his wand up into the air and caught it while keeping a close eye on her. He held the wand still and ready in his hand whenever Blaise willingly handed over his own.

Draco didn’t understand how his friend could trust Granger so quickly, even though they didn’t have the same history. He supposed it didn’t hurt that Blaise was stronger and faster than Draco, so he could probably stop Granger if she tried to run for it. Regardless, by the time they were ready to turn in, Draco felt surprisingly confident about the Charms NEWT. Blaise cheerily wished Granger good night as she handed back his wand.

Draco pulled the curtain for her to change and went to talk to Blaise. “What’re you doing?” He hissed.

“I’m studying with your homework slave, Malfoy. Relax, I’ll return her in one piece.”

“You gave her your wand, you daft–!”

“She’s not getting past both of us, mate.”

“Don’t count on it,” Draco grumbled. “I’ve seen her duel; she’s bloody fast, _and_ she can cast nonverbal curses.”

“Really? I should get her to help me with those next.”

“ _Dammit_ , Zabini!”

“Malfoy, breathe.” Blaise hit him in the shoulder. “You said yourself she’s brilliant; you think she’s thick enough to try and sneak out past us, the rest of Slytherin house, _and_ the Carrows? She’d never make it to the front door, and you know it.”

“She wouldn’t need to,” Draco hissed back. “If she made it to Gryffindor Tower we couldn’t go after her, and then she’d have all her allies back!”

Blaise looked sideways at him. “Would that be such a terrible thing?”

Draco could only stare.

*** *** ***

Two days passed quietly. The Slytherins dutifully guarded Hermione while she patiently assisted them with their homework in the hopes of keeping them happy. She quickly determined her opinion of Blaise had been misguided; his stoic attitude and pure-blood superiority was clearly a show put on for other Slytherins, just as Malfoy’s preening and arrogance were publicly exaggerated.

It took some time to get used to Blaise’s teasing and apathetic behaviour, but Hermione started to realize she liked Draco much better when he was around Blaise, almost as though he fed off some of the other boy’s positive energy. She wondered if the other wizard shifted into a more jovial role to balance out their friendship when things got harder for Draco. Keeping this in mind, Hermione allowed herself to trust Blaise a little more than she would’ve a year ago. He seemed quite decent, given the circumstances, and he didn’t insult her or her blood status once.

Blaise gradually told her more about the situation beyond their little dorm walls. After Luna had vanished at Christmas and Ginny never returned after the Easter holidays, Neville Longbottom had all but given up recruiting for what was still called _Dumbledore’s Army_. Hermione bit her lip as she imagined escaping the dungeons and making it to Gryffindor Tower to aid Neville; would her appearance make things easier or would she just lead the Death Eater teachers to her friends?

Twice a day the Slytherins escorted their captive – with firm hands on her arms – to the nearby bathroom. They timed the excursions carefully to ensure no other student saw her. Draco was desperate to talk to Blaise alone but didn’t dare allow Hermione longer than those few minutes unsupervised.

Finally, while Hermione was buried behind Blaise’s Ancient Runes text, Draco passed a note to his friend telling him to stay awake to talk after she fell asleep. She didn’t snore, but Draco spent enough nights with her to know when she breathed deeply enough that he could move without waking her. As soon as he could, he slipped from the covers and joined Blaise; his friend cast a nonverbal Transparency Charm on his curtain to keep an eye on the room.

“I like that she helped me with those,” Blaise murmured. Draco couldn’t decide if he wanted to smack his friend for being reckless or beg him to listen as he blurted all his fears, even though Slytherins didn’t regularly do that.

“You really _want_ her to escape?” Draco finally asked directly.

“She’d never fight for the Dark side, and you think they’d even _want_ her? She could be the most brilliant witch ever – hell, she just might be – and the Dark Lord won’t care because of her blood. Isn’t she better off with _them?_ ”

“I think she’s better off where she’s not getting my family killed,” Draco hissed.

“I’m not gonna set her free, I’m not thick. I like her well enough, but you matter more.”

“Aw, you’re going all Hufflepuff on me.”

Blaise punched him lightly. They both knew what they meant to each other without ever discussing it openly. “You know what I’m saying. D’you really want _him_ to win the war? ‘Cause the only other option is getting her back to Potter; we both know he’s a bumbling idiot without her.”

Draco paused, staring at his hands in the dark. “Father thinks I’m using her as bait to lure Potter; that’s why he let me bring her here.”

Blaise’s eyes opened wide. “It’s gonna happen _here?_ ”

“Yep.” Draco said miserably. Blaise fell back against his pillows and cursed. Draco glanced through the transparent curtain at his bed where the witch remained still.

“That changes everything,” Blaise muttered. “I thought we could just stay out of the whole damned thing and not pick a side. But both sides think we’ll fight with _them_.”

Draco dug his hands into the green coverlet. “Will you choose?”

“Will you?”

They sat in silence for a long time.

*** *** ***

Hermione was grateful that teenage boys were oblivious to the usefulness of a bra. She’d stolen two vials of Calming Draught from Draco the week before and slipped them into either side of the garment. Thankfully, Draco maintained enough decency to let her change in private, and this morning she was able to transfer the vials from her bra into her pockets.

She lounged on the unmade bed with her latest book from Draco’s collection – _Quintessential Renaissance Wizards and their Obsession with Alchemy_ – and watched the clock carefully. Draco was busy packing his bag. The Slytherins were vigilant but predictable. Blaise would bring breakfast and then study at his desk with a tall glass of juice after Draco left the dorm. If she could distract Blaise long enough to get the contents of the two vials into his drink, the double dose of the Calming Draught should make him doze off for at least half an hour, just enough time for her to steal his wand and escape the room.

Blaise entered with breakfast right on time, and Hermione thanked him for the toast, marmalade, and tea he levitated over to her. She couldn’t deny feeling a little guilty about leaving these two and getting them into trouble, but all thoughts of making it to Gryffindor Tower to find Neville and Professor McGonagall completely consumed her. She needed to find a way to warn Harry not to come to Hogwarts; the Slytherins would have to be on their own.

Draco finished eating first and left for class. Hermione casually swung her feet to the floor and asked Blaise what he was working on. “Potions essay for Slughorn,” Blaise responded with a yawn. “Difference between ragweed and knotgrass in Recovery Potions.”

“Oh, fascinating!” Hermione started conversing with her usual level of energy. “Ragweed is quite common, making it a more convenient choice, but knotgrass is much more potent–”

“That’s what I thought, too.” Blaise left his desk and opened his wardrobe in search of clean socks. Hermione noiselessly slid closer to his desk and managed to unstopper the first vial without a sound.

“Nott was saying ragweed’s risky since it’s more likely to carry whagwhorm eggs, which are poisonous when mixed with toad’s blood–” In one smooth movement, Hermione emptied the potion into Blaise’s glass of pumpkin juice and slid the vial back into her pocket while he was speaking behind the wardrobe door. When he emerged, she was leaning casually against his desk.

“–but Draco said knotgrass can carry dandelion pollen, which could make a Recovery Potion too strong. You go to wake someone up and they’ll have so much energy they try to climb to the moon.”

Hermione gave a half-hearted laugh and gestured to the pile of books Blaise had on his bedside cabinet. “Did you look up knotgrass in _Advanced Potion Making?_ I’m pretty sure there’s a spell that removes all traces of foreign pollen, which would render the knotgrass more useful–”

“Oh, right.” Blaise turned to retrieve the book and Hermione rapidly yanked the other bottle from her pocket. She unstoppered it, but Blaise turned back too fast; she held her thumb over the bottle opening and leaned back against the desk, now holding both hands behind her. “Yeah, this could be useful … I wonder if it could be used on ragweed to remove eggs, too.”

“I believe so, but you should check _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_.” Hermione gestured again to the same stack of books and he made a noise of agreement before turning again.

 _Thank Merlin._ Blaise retrieved the book quickly, but it was just enough time; the second potion made it into the glass. The drink was ready, but the second vial remained behind her back.

After a few minutes Blaise returned to the desk, and she slid out of his way. As he took a seat, she let the empty bottle slip from her fingers causing it to bounce under the bed. It made a tiny _thunk_ against the rug and Blaise looked round, confused.

“Oh, may I borrow this?” Hermione distracted him quickly by snatching the first book she could see off the teetering pile next to the wardrobe.

“You want to read _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?_ Didn’t you have that memorized about five years ago?”

“Well, yes, but it’s been a while, you know?” Blaise shrugged and turned back to his desk.

Hermione hid a sigh of relief and went back to Draco’s bed to wait.

*** *** ***


	16. Of Vials and Vendettas

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 16: Of Vials and Vendettas**

Half an hour passed before Blaise finally drained his glass of juice. Hermione stared at the drawing of a Quintaped but didn’t read a single word.

Finally, Blaise yawned, dropped his quill, and rested his head on his arm. She held her breath and waited.

His breath became slow and even. It was now or never.

She stood silently and crept over to him. She hoped the door would let her pass if she held his wand, but she was prepared to try the window if necessary. Thankfully, his wand lay on the desk, so she didn’t need to search his pockets. She reached around the silent Slytherin …

… who snatched her by the arm and threw her onto his bed with one swift motion.

Hermione blinked hair out of her eyes as Blaise stood from the desk wearing a frightening expression. “We’ve been taking Calming Draughts all bloody year, Granger, I know what they smell like.” He snapped. She glanced back at the desk, where his empty glass of pumpkin juice hid a full one. _Damn._ She’d taught him the _Gemino_ charm just two days ago.

Hermione scrambled off the bed and ran at the desk to try and snatch his wand, but Blaise was lightning-fast. She cried out as he caught her around the waist, knocking his wand to the ground in the process. She kicked out at him and struggled desperately, trying to reach the fallen wand.

“What … the hell … were you _thinking?_ ” Blaise hissed in her ear as he restrained her. Hermione’s frustration peaked when she realized she’d tricked the wrong Slytherin. Draco was all lean muscle from playing Quidditch like Ron. Blaise’s arms were huge by comparison, corded with rippling muscles that held her effortlessly. There was no chance of fighting free from him.

Neither of them expected Draco to return just then. He slid through the doorway and his eyebrows flew up into his pale hair as he watched his roommate hold their writhing captive who remained too stubborn and angry to give up. “What the bloody hell is going on?” Draco hissed as he slammed the door.

“Granger was embracing her inner Slytherin,” Blaise grunted. Hermione finally gave up struggling; she knew she couldn’t fight them both, but Blaise held her firmly regardless. “Why’d you come back so early?”

“Carrow Number Two cancelled Muggle Studies ‘cause they caught a bunch of Gryffindors trying to get in Snape’s office again.” Draco walked toward them angrily. He bent to retrieve Blaise’s wand and spotted the bottle on the floor just under the bed. He immediately recognized his own writing on the label. He gave Hermione a terrifying glare. “You filthy little thief …”

“She got that from you?”

“From my room at the Manor. I thought I could _trust_ you, dammit!” He yelled at her and threw the vial at the door, where it shattered. Hermione just looked away, tears stinging her eyes. Blaise noticed the lump in her pocket from the other vial and pulled it out.

“Can’t fool the house of serpents,” Blaise muttered in her ear as he finally let go of her. Hermione stumbled away from him and wiped her eyes in frustration. Blaise binned the empty vial and retrieved his wand, but Draco wasn’t done with her; he seized her arm and dragged her to his side.

“What the _bloody hell_ were you thinking?! You get out the door and what, get past the rest of the Slytherins without being seen and then out to meet Snape and the Carrows? You haven’t a chance in _hell_ , Granger, and if you were caught, I’d be–”

Hermione fiercely yanked her arm away from him. “I can’t believe you expected me to behave like a perfect little prisoner while you held me against my will in _my school_ , Malfoy you–”

“I expected you to be grateful that we–”

“ _Grateful?!_ Why, because you didn’t tie me up?”

“–could’ve been caught by someone worse–”

“–arrogant _Slytherin_!”

“ _Stubborn_ little–!”

“OK, OK,” Blaise stepped between the angry duo. “Would you two like to be alone?” They shot him matching glares. Blaise glared at his friend. “Sit.” He pointed at Draco’s bed, then turned to Hermione. “You too.”

Hermione stomped to Draco’s desk and sat. She was so angry she was nearly ready to take out her fury on the hapless book sitting within her reach. Draco stood by the bed, refusing to sit. Blaise rolled his eyes and shoved him to the mattress easily.

_Damn him and his up-sits and push-downs._

“We need to figure this out,” Blaise said firmly. Draco started to stand, but Blaise pushed him right back down. “No. You’ve got a decision to make–”

“No, I don’t!”

“Draco, you’re being bloody stubborn–”

“I’m not as bad as _her!_ ”

“I don’t _care!_ You need to decide what you’re gonna do about–” Draco shoved past his friend, and with an angry mutter slammed his way out the door.

Blaise fell backwards onto Draco’s bed with an irritated huff. “Think he’s actually _worse_ than you …” he mumbled to Hermione. She drew her feet onto her chair and wrapped her arms around her knees tightly. Blaise’s wand was securely inside his robes and she didn’t dare try to go for it again.

“I wanted to let you go,” Blaise admitted quietly after a while. She turned to him in confusion.

“But … why didn’t you?”

“Because you’re the only thing standing between my best friend and his death.”

The guilt she suppressed earlier came rushing back. “I don’t want him to get punished either. He doesn’t deserve it, but I have to think of the bigger picture–”

“And that’s why you’re a Gryffindor, even if you are a cunning little witch.” Blaise sat up. “You can put others first; we _can’t_. We care about ourselves above almost everything else. Draco’s the only person I’m willing to fight for. I won’t risk my life for Potter, like you.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t generalize,” Hermione responded quietly. “If a Gryffindor can be a little cunning, why can’t a Slytherin be a little brave and selfless?”

Blaise frowned. “You’re sneaky, Granger. Been trying to convert Draco into a Gryffindor this whole time, too?”

Hermione scoffed childishly. “As though _Malfoy_ will ever change–”

“He already _has_ , and you know it. You think the Draco Malfoy who worshipped Umbridge, abused his Prefect powers, and went out of his way to make your life hell is still the same bloke? This bloody war has changed him. _You’ve_ changed him.”

“I don’t think …” she began.

“You _have_. He’s not even the same bloke he was last month. He’s fighting hard as hell to stay out of sight and not raise his wand to anyone. He walked right past Longbottom the other day and didn’t even sneer at him. It’s freaking me out, Granger.”

“You made that up. He hasn’t been out of this room at the same time as you.”

“I didn’t see it, Nott did. It freaked him out too, though he’s always been pretty decent even for a Slytherin …” Blaise was clearly teasing but Hermione didn’t know what else to say.

Blaise ran his fingers through his dark hair and sighed. “Look, Granger, I can’t just let you walk out of here. You and that nest of hair are unmistakable, and you’ll get caught. Draco’s right, you could get caught by someone worse than us. But if it’s true, and the Death Eaters are gonna storm the castle looking for Potter–” Hermione tensed “–I don’t think Draco’s gonna actually trade you to save himself.”

“You hold him in rather high regard,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve hoped to stay neutral ‘cause I never wanted to fight at all. None of us did. Draco was forced onto the other side, so it’ll be harder for him to change his mind, but I think he will. He’s no Death Eater by choice.”

“Will you?” she asked softly. He tilted his head inquisitively. “Will you change your mind? Fight with the right side?”

“Would you trust me if I said yes?”

Hermione considered him. “I don’t know.”

Blaise was silent for a moment.

“If the state of Hogwarts right now is any indication of what the Dark Lord wants this world to become, then I’d rather help Potter win,” he finally said slowly. “The problem is he’s got the whole bloody deck stacked against him.”

“Harry has more pieces on the board than you know,” Hermione said tentatively.

“Enough to take on a couple thousand Death Eaters?” She didn’t reply, and he shrugged. “I might be exaggerating; I’ve actually no idea how big the Dark Lord’s army is. And there’s plenty that _will_ fight for Potter, I know that.”

“Including you?” she ventured desperately.

“I might say yes if I were any good at duelling, Granger.”

She stared at him. “Why on earth didn’t you ask me for help days ago?”

Blaise chuckled. “Well I was hoping to do the Slytherin thing and … y’know. Hide.” She made a frustrated noise at him and gestured him to stand. He grinned and indulged her. She looked pointedly at his six-foot frame and Bludger-hard muscles. If she hadn’t seen him scarfing three pieces of cake the other day, she would assume he lived on a diet of pure protein.

“Seriously, Zabini, _look_ at you. You could take down those wimpy Death Eaters _without_ a wand! Nobody expects someone to throw a good punch during a wizard duel. You just need to master a Shield Charm and Disarming–”

“–and get close enough to the hooded bigots to knock them on their arses?” Blaise asked amusedly. “That sounds like fun, Granger, but remember I’m no suicidal Gryffindor.”

She huffed in annoyance. “You and Malfoy, you’re so afraid to prove you’re something _other_ than a stuck-up Slytherin. Maybe it’s time to join the real world where Hogwarts houses don’t matter!”

His grin turned into a smirk. “You talk to Draco like this the entire time you were stuck with him?”

“Like what?”

“Like a leader.”

“I’m not– _Harry’s_ the leader.”

“I’m not so sure. Draco’s been taught his whole life to follow the strongest leader, and I think you’re converting him. Explains why he’s so bloody frustrated right now. How much time did it take before he trusted you?”

“We … just a day or so, but–” Blaise simply continued to smirk, and Hermione threw her hands up. “He saved me from torture at the risk of taking my place! He kept me away from his crazy aunt, so I trusted _him_ and then we shared … information. I gave him some quasi-useful facts about the Order so he could pretend he forced information out of me, and in exchange he told me what he knew about You-Know-Who and talked to me about himself a little.”

Blaise’s smirk dropped; he looked floored. “Draco talked to you … about _himself?_ He _doesn’t_ – I knew him for _years_ before I knew anything the prat was thinking under all those smirks.”

“It was a desperate situation,” Hermione said defensively. “We were both at risk, so we agreed to … make a truce, as it were. We both shared a little and I suppose we got used to trusting each other.”

Blaise rubbed his eyes for a moment. “OK, that actually explains a lot. It explains why he knew what kind of food you liked, how you take your tea, which books you read, and how you two can share a bed without bickering … hell, you two can be in the same _room_ and barely bicker; it’s bloody weird. I thought he was falling in love with you.”

Hermione gave an unladylike snort. “Malfoy is far too elitist to fall for someone like me, even if we _didn’t_ spend half our lives hating each other. We’re barely even friends, we only tolerate each other because we need to right now.” _And that kiss was an unprecedented clash of misdirected emotions_ , she told herself firmly.

Blaise shook his head; she could see the sneaky Slytherin look creeping back into his eyes. “I dunno, Granger, I’ve never known him to share _anything_ with a woman. Not even his textbooks, and you’ve been all over those …” Hermione threw a pillow at him.

“If you’re going to be a prick, Zabini, I’m not saying anything else. I just want to know if you and Draco intend to fight with _them_ or not because I refuse to cooperate with the pair of you if you’re intending to attack the other students!” Blaise stilled, and she watched carefully as all his teasing vanished.

“Lemme talk to Draco, OK?”

“Why can’t you make up your _own_ mind?” she pressed.

“Because no matter how good your arguments are, I _won’t_ fight against my best mate. I’ll end up choosing whatever side he does because even though I sort of like you, _he’s_ the only one whose survival I really care about.” She had no response. She tried to imagine fighting opposite Harry and couldn’t fathom it.

Blaise stepped closer to her, suddenly quite serious. “Listen, Granger. No matter what Draco decides to do, I don’t want to hurt you, or Potter. I won’t even attack the bloody Weasleys because I _do_ hope Potter wins. If I need to fake along with the Death Eaters to get my best friend through this war, I will, but I’m not a monster. I _won’t_ attack Hogwarts students; you have my word. I’ll Petrify or Stun if I must, but I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Hermione wordlessly extended her hand without breaking eye contact. He reached out immediately and shook it. “My word.” He repeated firmly. “Even though you tried to poison me.”

“It was a Calming Draught! Even doubled, you would’ve only slept for–” she stopped as she realized he was laughing at her under his breath. She looked down at her socks and sighed. She wasn’t used to being teased harmlessly by Slytherins.

“It was clever. Most people don’t know a double dose’ll knock someone out. We learned the hard way.”

“You’ve both been taking it?”

“It’s one of the only things that helps us get to sleep,” Blaise answered. “Dreamless Sleep is better but harder to brew, so we use the Calming Draught to take the edge off.” Hermione remembered Draco giving up his last Dreamless Sleep for her and felt a wave of guilt again.

Blaise returned to his desk. “Draco doesn’t want to hurt you either, you know,” he called over his shoulder. “No matter what happens.”

“I know,” she murmured.

*** *** ***

The plan was almost set. Bill’s interference had proven useful, as the elder Weasley brother didn’t need to be privy to the break-in but wholeheartedly agreed with the idea of Harry using Polyjuice Potion in public. He retrieved several hairs from a nearby Muggle town, which would transform Harry into a nondescript, dirty blond teenager – they didn’t tell Bill it was Ron that would be using it.

The two planned to Apparate to Diagon Alley; Harry and Griphook would hide beneath the Cloak and Polyjuiced Ron would lead them into the bank where Harry would Confund one of the goblins to take them to the Lestrange vault. Harry could only hope Confunding a goblin would have the same effect as Confunding a wizard, but Griphook would hardly allow them to practice on him. Their pseudo-ally was not the most reassuring.

They were nearly prepared when Luna announced her presence by reaching for Ron’s hand, which she had recently made a habit of. “Mr. Ollivander sent me a new wand,” she said in her wistful voice. They examined the lovely piece of birch in her fingers and complimented her. She looked at them both carefully; Harry always thought her eyes seemed to look deeper than the surface of his face. She studied them as though she could pull their secrets from their retinas.

“You’re leaving soon,” she said simply, with only a hint of a question. Ron went pink and looked down at her hand, still in his. She gave him a little squeeze but didn’t let go.

“Yes,” Harry answered quietly.

“That’s good,” she replied. “I know you have a plan, Harry. You always do.” She reached out and took his hand in her other one.

“I know you were supposed to have someone else in your plan, Harry.” Ron made a choking sound and Harry felt his eyes stinging.

“Friends don’t get replaced,” Luna said softly. Her expression said more than her words. “But if I can do anything to help, you must tell me.” Harry’s eyes threatened to spill over. Ron returned Luna’s squeeze but couldn’t speak.

“I saw your bedroom, Luna,” Harry said quietly. “The paintings. You’re our friend. We can’t … we can’t risk another friend.”

*** *** ***

Hermione hated the prejudice built into her. Even after Blaise’s promise and Draco’s changed behaviour over the last two weeks, she was still convinced she couldn’t completely trust them. If an opportunity arose to escape, she intended to find it and take her chance to get back to the Gryffindors. She continued to pore over the books in the room, even older books that Blaise piled in his messy corner, but she couldn’t find a counter spell that might remove the enchantment from the door.

Their window opened, but it was short and wide, only large enough for small owls to fly in and out. Hermione likely wouldn’t fit, and the window seemed to face an abandoned part of the grounds. She’d seen nobody but Filch pass near the window, so even calling out for help wasn’t an option.

The boys continued to talk to her about their homework, and she started to help Blaise with Shield Charms, but they didn’t let her hold a wand again. She briefly debated trying to steal Draco’s wand in the dead of night, but he was a light sleeper. She maintained a civil relationship with the boys, and she didn’t want them to resort to tying her up – or worse – if she got caught escaping again.

Unfortunately, as the days crept by, her paranoia only grew. She imagined Death Eaters bursting through the door at any moment and the unknown reaction of her roommates haunted her dreams.

*** *** ***

Draco began keeping to himself more than usual. He suspected Blaise might be conspiring with their prisoner, and Draco didn’t want any part of it. If Blaise helped her escape, then he could bloody well take the blame and Draco could keep himself – and Narcissa – far away from it. He fingered the two wands in his pocket carefully and wished he hadn’t told Blaise about the other one. It weighed like a stone in his pocket, drawing his attention constantly and reminding him that he hadn’t made a choice yet.

Draco was getting frustrated and anxious. Their tiny dorm window allowed him to correspond with his mother secretly by owl, but her letters were tremendously unhelpful; she would only say she loved him and missed him and hoped his studies were going well. He wanted a hint as to when they were planning the attack, but he suspected her correspondence was still being watched. He tried to be equally vague in his own letters, reassuring her that his classes and his “special project” were going well and that she needn’t worry.

He received a very angry letter from Lucius telling him that the batch of Veritaserum Snape was brewing for interrogations had been sabotaged and it would be weeks before another batch would be ready – so they finally knew why students had been trying to break into Snape’s office. Draco feigned anger in his reply while breathing an internal sigh of relief. Lucius used the letter to steadfastly remind his son that his potential failure would be the doom of their family, the end of the Malfoy line, the shame of his ancestors, et cetera.

Meanwhile, Granger was bloody irritating because she’d become so quiet. Draco had grown used to the opinionated, bossy bookworm who reveled in her self-confidence – until Blaise foiled her escape plan and then started talking to her alone. Her sudden silence put Draco on edge. She just sat patiently with a pile of books and he felt her presence like a thorn in his side.

A very soft thorn with a lingering scent of citrus.

One evening, Draco’s thoughts were cut off abruptly as Blaise was thrown backwards onto his bed by magic, and Hermione was standing near the door clutching his wand. Draco launched himself to his feet and grabbed the witch to wrestle the wand away from her. She was surprisingly compliant, and then Draco heard Blaise’s laughter.

“Relax mate, she was demonstrating nonverbal Disarming,” Blaise got to his feet and straightened his rumpled shirt. Draco stared at the witch.

“Wandless?” She blushed slightly and nodded. _Bloody Merlin._

“She’s kinda scary, isn’t she,” Blaise said admiringly as he retrieved his wand from Draco. Hermione shot him a small grin. The two had proven to be surprisingly good study partners.

Draco felt something twist in his stomach. “Well, I think the scary witch has had enough wandless magic for the day,” he drawled, trying to sound indifferent. He steered Hermione towards the four-poster. “Bedtime, Granger.” Blaise waved a goodnight at the pair and winked at Draco who bit his lip and tried not to snarl in response. Blaise was going too far.

*** *** ***

_She struggled in Blaise’s strong grip on the front steps of the castle; she pleaded with him, but he was impassive as a statue. Harry appeared from the shadows and tried to run for her, but Malfoy slipped up behind him and cut him down, laughing. She screamed helplessly as her best friend’s blood ran down the lawn like a river of cherry syrup. Malfoy turned and knelt before a figure who suddenly appeared on a throne made of severed heads._

_“You’ve done so well,” Voldemort drawled. He looked like Lucius Malfoy, but hairless, and with acid-green eyes like poison. “Now, young Malfoy, you have but one final task …”_

_With a sweeping bow to his master the blond wizard made straight for Hermione, who was powerless as his best friend restrained her._

_“I’m sorry,” Blaise said. “He’s more important.”_

_Malfoy’s evil smirk grew closer and closer. His silver-grey eyes had become pitch black. He lifted a razor-sharp, silver-handled knife to her throat._

_“Poor clueless, stupid Mudblood. You were the perfect little tool I needed to get everything I wanted and more …” His lips momentarily pressed against hers and she struggled … his mouth was ice-cold as the blade at her throat._

_“You trusted me …” Malfoy purred. “But you couldn’t save me, Mudblood, just like you couldn’t save Potter.” She kicked out harder than ever as his black eyes stared into hers like an empty void._

_“See you in Hell, Granger.” Malfoy let out a horrible laugh as he swiftly cut her throat._

*** *** ***

Hermione woke with a start.

She nearly screamed at the figure leaning over her in the dark. She shook heavily in the aftermath of the nightmare and only managed to calm her breathing when she realized Malfoy’s eyes were their normal grey.

“I thought the nightmares finally stopped,” he mumbled as he lay back down. “You haven’t made a peep in three nights.”

Still trying to catch her breath, she reached to wipe sweat from her forehead and realized there were tears too. Her eyes stung and her desire to run away was strong, but she wouldn’t even make it to the door since he slept closer to it.

Draco turned away from her and she hoped he’d just go back to sleep, but he magically unlocked the drawer next to him and extracted a vial. “Calming Draught?” she asked, confused. “You haven’t been taking–”

“I’m running out,” he muttered. “But if you take it then you won’t wake me up.” He thrust the vial into her hand.

“I … thank you.”

 _It was only a dream,_ she reminded herself fiercely. Malfoy had plenty of chances to harm her, and he never took them. She swallowed the potion and slowly managed to relax.

Draco listened as her breathing evened out. He would never admit his own nightmares weren’t as horrible as listening to hers.

*** *** ***


	17. Of Reservations and Reunions

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 17: Of Reservations and Reunions**

Early the next morning, Hermione was finishing up in the bathroom when she heard Draco’s slightly raised voice from outside the door. She thought Blaise responded, but their voices were too muffled. She crept closer to the door in her sock feet and pressed her ear to the crack.

“… you trust her, but encouraging wandless magic is too much!”

“Draco, she’s a brilliant witch and she’d be practicing whether we wanted her to or not. Now that she trusts me, I can keep an eye on what she’s doing. It took her four tries to Disarm me, and it’s the most complicated wandless spell she can do. It’s not as though she can get past the door–”

“I can’t take any risks!” she heard Draco hiss back. “You know _everything_ is on the line, if Granger gets away now my entire family’s done for!”

A moment of silence passed. Hermione held her breath.

“She won’t try again,” Blaise answered slowly. Draco made no verbal reply, but Hermione imagined the incredulous look he probably gave Blaise. “Yeah, I know you don’t like it, but I want you to think about it, mate. After I stopped her from getting out, I thought she’d get all defensive or keep trying to escape, but she’s acting like …”

“What?” Draco spat.

“Like she’s OK with us. She _trusts_ us.”

Draco went silent for a little while. Hermione was about to leave the bathroom when he finally replied, more quietly: “I told you what happened at the Manor. I did get her to trust me once.”

“I reckon she still does. She even falls asleep in your bed.” There was a hint of teasing in Blaise’s voice which Draco ignored.

“Well no matter how much she wants us to convert to Gryffindors and swoop in with her at the last minute to rescue Potter and save the day, I don’t think that’ll help any of us survive in the end.”

“D’you care if she survives at all?” Blaise asked quietly. She heard a dull thud; Draco must’ve punched or kicked the wall.

“I can’t be a hero,” Draco mumbled. “Doesn’t matter if I want to save her.”

*** *** ***

Gringotts bank had been broken into, and a high-security vault had been breached. A dragon had torn its way from the bowels of the bank and pushed past dozens of screaming goblins and wizards into the sky with two nondescript figures clutching its back.

The news of this reached the Dark Lord, but the isolated Slytherins and their Gryffindor captive were none the wiser. They focused on their Transfiguration homework as they finished their dinner.

Then Draco retrieved a tiny note from a little grey owl and unfolded it quickly. He felt his insides freeze as he recognized two words in his father’s hand:

_Tonight. Midnight._

*** *** ***

“Draco?”

He couldn’t look at her. His face was ashen as he slid to the floor. Blaise dropped down beside him and forced him to relinquish the parchment. The teasing expression he usually used – on which Draco relied heavily to keep himself sane – disappeared.

“Tonight?” the dark Slytherin whispered.

Hermione leaped to her feet. “They’re _coming?_ ” Draco couldn’t move. He was afraid to breathe.

“Draco?” Blaise wasn’t asking a question. He was reminding Draco that it was time. He couldn’t walk on the fence anymore. It was one side or the other.

“Maybe … if we just stay in here–”

“ _NO!_ ” The fury on Blaise’s face all but made his eyes crackle with magic. He seized his friend by the front of his robes. “It’s _too_ _risky_. You need to decide, Malfoy. _Now_.”

His mother’s whispered parting words from the Manor came swimming back to him.

_I know what it is you hope for, and you will find a way, my dragon._

*** *** ***

Hermione sat very still at the edge of Draco’s bed. He’d sent Blaise to the common room to listen for news. Midnight was less than an hour away, but his friend hadn’t returned.

Hermione wanted desperately for Malfoy to make a choice, but she was terrified he’d make the wrong one. He wouldn’t look at her, but she couldn’t resist glancing over at him every few minutes. Her nightmares tickled the back of her mind and she suppressed a shiver. Would he simply drag her out to meet the Death Eaters, or would he have to torture her, too? They still weren’t friends, but they’d shared meals, a bed, a _kiss_ …

Draco remained motionless on the floor, counting the seconds as midnight ticked closer. He could tie her up and drag her out to meet the Dark Lord, who may be pleased with Draco or utterly indifferent. They would hold her until Potter was close … they would torture her in front of him to make Potter surrender. More than likely, it would be _his_ responsibility to torture her. After it was all over, and Potter and Granger were dead along with Merlin only knew how many others, perhaps Draco could trust that the Dark Lord would spare him and his family.

Or he could try and protect her … risking the end of the Malfoy line forever. His heart raced inside his chest as though it was bursting to escape.

Whatever Hermione expected, it wasn’t that Draco would suddenly reach into his robes and retrieve a wand that wasn’t his mother’s. She recognized the carvings immediately and nearly burst into tears. It was _hers._

“My father got it off the Snatchers,” he said quietly. “I recognized it, and he wanted to destroy it. He’d rather have no wand than use a …”

“A Mudblood’s,” she finished softly. Draco didn’t answer.

She wanted to reach out and snatch her wand, but she knew this was his final test. In her mind, she begged him. _You didn’t kill Dumbledore. You didn’t turn in Harry. You can do this. Protect me, and we’ll protect you._

“I convinced him it would be fun to torture you with your own wand,” Draco said under his breath. She stared at him, pale.

“You could have,” she said simply.

“I still could.”

His voice held no resolution. He hadn’t decided yet. Hermione held back her tears and hoped against all hope that Blaise would come back and convince him … no. She’d been getting on with the other Slytherin, but he’d protect his friend, and she expected nothing less.

Perhaps when Blaise returned, she could be quick enough to run past him while the door was open? Maybe she could snatch his wand, or on her way through the Slytherin common room she could steal a wand from someone who wasn’t paying attention? Her Disillusionment Charm was quite good … she could hide until someone opened the door–

Wordlessly, Draco reached over and pressed Hermione’s wand into her hand. The familiar wood was warm to her fingers; she could hardly believe it–

Blaise burst through the bedroom door, making Draco and Hermione jump.

“Slughorn’s waking everybody; it’s happening!” Blaise glanced down at Hermione’s hand holding her wand firmly and he broke into a small grin. “I knew you’d smarten up, you git.”

*** *** ***

Seven floors above them, Harry Potter was making an announcement.

“They’re evacuating the younger kids and everyone’s meeting in the Great Hall to get organised. We’re fighting.”

*** *** ***

Draco didn’t want any Slytherins catching a glimpse of Hermione. Several quick words convinced Blaise to follow the other Slytherins to the Great Hall to find out what was going on.

When the dungeon fell silent, Draco took Hermione’s arm and pulled her through the deserted common room and out the sliding wall into the cool corridor.

Hermione started to run; she was desperate to get to the Gryffindors, but Draco stubbornly held her back. “I can’t let you out of my sight! If Snape sees you without me, he’ll tell the Dark Lord I let you go!”

“You _are_ letting me go!” she cried. He wasn’t about to change his mind, was he? Had he been pretending to help her to make it easier to get her outside?

She cast a Stinging Jinx and he was forced to release her arm with a hiss. She took off down the corridor, but his long legs caught up with her quickly and he pinned her to the wall. She tried to curse him, but he held her shoulders firmly and brought his face quite close to hers.

“You don’t get it!” he hissed in desperation. “They can’t know I betrayed them! The second they find out, I’m dead! My whole family’s dead!” His grey eyes pleaded with her.

“I’m fighting with the Order,” she whispered. “You can’t stop me.”

“I know,” he replied. “But for the love of Merlin, you need to stay out of sight ‘til the last possible minute! We need to act like you’re still my prisoner, otherwise we– we’re both …” _Please, Granger, don’t be stupid …_

She bit her lip. Maybe it was wrong, but she trusted him.

“Alright,” she answered softly. “What’s your plan?”

*** *** ***

Draco led Hermione to a deserted corridor on the second floor and pulled her into a niche behind a large vase. He didn’t tell her this was an ideal snogging spot that Pansy led him to several times. From here he could make out the noises echoing up from the Entrance Hall. He didn’t know exactly what to do, but if the Entrance Hall became quiet, perhaps he – they? – could risk sneaking out to the Forest. It would be easy enough to hide there, and perhaps he could even risk Apparating home to find Narcissa while everyone was distracted at Hogwarts.

Hermione was cooperating with him now, but he knew she’d join the fight at her first chance.

A horrible sound he didn’t expect rang through the night air: The voice of Voldemort.

_“I know that you are preparing to fight …”_

Hermione inadvertently shrunk backwards against Draco, who still had one tight arm around her.

*** *** ***

In the Great Hall, Blaise stared disbelievingly at Potter, hardly daring to believe he was daft enough to come back, but all else vanished as the voice of the Dark Lord resounded within the stone walls. At the front of the room Harry should’ve been shaking with terror, but he stood astoundingly still.

_“Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight.”_

From beside Blaise, Pansy Parkinson screamed in Potter’s direction. He debated whether it would be any use to shut her up when he realized most of the Hall suddenly stood and blocked Potter from the eyes of the Slytherins. _Merlin … he does have a lot of pieces on the board._

In a mass exodus, the Slytherins led the evacuating crowd from the Hall. The crowd was moving upstairs, but Blaise needed to get back to Draco. With a jolt, he realized Granger wouldn’t willingly hide in the dungeons now that she had her wand back.

 _Why weren’t we smart enough to set up a meeting place?_ He tried to predict where Draco would go if he needed to hide.

After they climbed the marble staircase, Blaise was too distracted to notice two figures slipping away from the crowd of Slytherins and into the shadows.

*** *** ***

_Until midnight._

Voldemort could’ve been talking to Draco personally, reminding him that he only had until midnight to bring his hostage down to lure Potter.

The terrifying voice rang in his ears as Draco knew this was his last chance to change his mind.

*** *** ***

It was midnight. From the shadows on the second floor, Hermione’s heart pounded as she waited desperately for a sign of _something_. Draco kept a firm arm around her, holding her in the niche so she wouldn’t run out. It was too late now, and he knew it. He resolved to remain right here until one side won the battle. The voice of Voldemort rang in his head and he was too frightened to move his feet.

They’d heard a large crowd exiting the Great Hall, and there were jumbled voices and movements below, but Hermione couldn’t distinguish any voice she recognized. There were many young voices; perhaps students were being evacuated. But what about those who would fight?

 _They won’t turn Harry over … but what if he walks out on his own?_ The desire to find him, to _stop_ him, overwhelmed her, and for a moment she thought she must’ve hallucinated her brother … surely, he hadn’t just appeared at the end of this very corridor?

She leaned around the vase for a better look. She could hear his footsteps and his quick breaths. He was very real.

“Harry!” Hermione breathed. Draco peered distractedly in the same direction, allowing Hermione to slip his grasp and duck out from behind the vase before he could stop her. She began to run to Harry, but in her haste she didn’t see the movement at the other end of the corridor.

One instant Harry saw Hermione and his jaw dropped in disbelief, but the next instant he spotted the two figures with wands raised behind her, at the same instant Draco burst out of the niche.

“ _No!_ ” Draco dove forward, knocking Hermione to the ground. Two angry bursts of magic just missed the pair. Draco Disarmed one of the figures – who bounced off a wall and landed still – while Harry quickly Stunned the other. As the figures crumpled to the ground, Ron ran up behind Harry.

“Blimey Harry, how’d you run so fast–” his voice caught when he saw Malfoy holding Hermione against the ground and his blue eyes opened wide. “ _Get away from her!_ ” he screamed.

“Ron, wait!” Harry grabbed his best friend’s arm just as Ron raised his wand to curse Draco. Ron tried to pull away and Harry struggled to hold him back. Draco quickly stood and took a step back from Hermione as she stumbled to her feet, eyes fixed on her lost friends. She let out a cry and ran to them. Harry dropped a hand from Ron’s arm to pull her against him closely.

“Hermione … we– we thought …” she hadn’t heard Harry’s voice crack with emotion like this since the night Voldemort returned. Tears of utter relief streamed down her cheeks as the wizards held her close. Ron stroked her hair and seemed to be shocked, happy, and angry all at once, but over her head he hadn’t taken his eyes off Malfoy.

“Why is _he_ here?” Ron finally hissed. Hermione pulled away, wiping her eyes.

“He saved me.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Harry kept an arm extended slightly to hold Ron back. “Before you showed up just now Malfoy knocked her out of the path of a curse and then helped me take down them,” he gestured in the direction of the Stunned figures. Ron looked from Malfoy to Hermione to Harry and back again, incredulous.

“He saved me from the Death Eaters too, and he gave me back my wand, Ron,” Hermione said breathlessly, holding it out as proof.

Draco had no idea what to do with himself and wished he'd left the corridor when Potter appeared. He didn’t like the way any of them were looking at him, so he redirected his gaze to the Stunned figures down the hall. He nearly tripped over his shoes when he realized who they were.

Harry and Ron saw Draco’s jump of surprise and ran closer. Ron’s hand was gripping Hermione’s tightly.

“Crabbe and Goyle!” Ron spat in fury. He looked at Draco sharply, daring him to revive his friends and turn on them. Draco looked up from the fallen boulders that used to be his friends, and he shook his head once, in Ron’s direction. He wasn’t stupid enough to wake them; they would know right away that he let Hermione go.

For a moment, the four students stood in uncomfortable silence. Crashes and bangs sounded below; intruders seemed to have breached the front doors of the castle. Draco’s heart pounded. He wanted to run and hide, but if he tried to run right now these two – three? – would probably think he was guilty and attack him.

Harry broke the awkward silence. He took a few careful steps closer to his old enemy. Draco met his gaze reluctantly but kept his expression as neutral as possible. None of the scenarios he imagined involved running into them. She’d never leave their sides; he was on his own, and now he was at Potter’s mercy. _Ugh._

“You got her out of there?” Harry asked softly. Draco nodded slowly. “You didn’t hurt her?”

Draco shook his head as Hermione cried out, “No!” She turned to Ron – she knew he’d be the harder of the two to convince – and insisted, “They wanted him to, but he _didn’t_ hurt me. He lied to them to protect me, and he got me here. He’s been keeping me safe, and he’ll fight with us.”

Draco’s stomach gave a lurch, and he suddenly wondered if the other students had been completely evacuated or if he could slip in with them somehow and get out of the castle. _Go find Mother and run for the mountains._

Ron’s ears were very red, but he finally relaxed his wand arm. He couldn’t believe Luna had been right; he half-wondered if a Crumple-Horned Snorkack would appear out of the shadows next, waving one of Fred’s fake wands.

“I knew it wasn’t too late for you, Malfoy.” Harry said quietly. He switched his wand to his left hand and extended his right.

Draco stared as all other thoughts vanished from his mind. _Equals …?_

He slowly reached out and shook Potter’s hand.

*** *** ***

When Harry dropped Draco’s hand, he immediately turned back to his friends. Draco’s surprise intensified as his former nemesis willingly turned his back, fully trusting him not to attack. Draco resisted the urge to run for it, and he slowly followed his new ally. Hermione grinned at him, which he was still too bashful – or stubborn – to return properly. He didn’t know what he was doing, but it looked like his choice had been made.

Harry, ever the leader, was all business. “OK Hermione, we managed to get one more. It’s not destroyed yet, but we know where to find the last one.”

“The sword–?” she started to ask.

Harry shook his head. “We lost it. Long story. But we have the cup,” he pulled Hermione’s beaded bag out of his pocket and her eyes opened wide. “Ron reckons we can get into the Chamber to get a fang, and we know what Ravenclaw’s is; it’s in the Room of Requirement. Then it’s just the snake.” Hermione nodded excitedly but Draco stared at the trio as if they were speaking in Greek.

“What can we do?” Hermione gestured to herself and Draco, whose cheeks went pink. He studied his shoes.

Harry sped up; he was clearly getting anxious. “Ron can get into the Chamber, he heard me use Parseltongue on the locket,” he rambled breathlessly. “If you go with him, you two can destroy this,” he thrust her bag at her, and she held it tightly. “Malfoy knows the Room, I reckon he can help me find the other one, so he should come with me.” Hermione leaned up and gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed Ron’s hand, and the pair took off down the corridor.

Draco was perplexed, but Harry quickly gestured him to follow, so he didn’t have much time to ponder what the hell those three were up to.

_I guess I’m really on Potter’s side now._

As they departed the corridor, Goyle started to stir.

*** *** ***

“Malfoy … really saved you?” Ron asked breathlessly as he and Hermione darted through the corridors.

“Yes, Ron, I swear. He’s terrified, of course, and I don’t blame him one bit, but he really isn’t on Voldemort’s side. He never wanted to be.”

Sounds of duelling echoed loudly through the empty stone halls; they froze for just a second before ducking into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

“You’ll have to tell me everything!”

“You’ll have to tell me where you got the cup, but one thing at a time, Ronald!”

“Damn I missed you, Hermione.”

*** *** ***

Draco’s bewilderment grew when Potter led him to the seventh floor. Potter started walking back and forth, muttering something. Draco knew perfectly well how to access the Room of Hidden Things, but he’d forgotten Potter spent fifth year with his illegal army there.

The door appeared, and Potter yanked it open. He looked back at Draco, then realized the other boy’s hesitancy. “Look Malfoy, you saved Hermione. You don’t need to do more if you …” _Don’t want to?_ _Aren’t brave enough?_ Draco mentally completed the sentence as Potter’s voice trailed off.

He held his mother’s wand tightly and took one step closer to Potter. “Are you ACTUALLY able to stop him?” He demanded.

Potter nodded determinedly. “If we get what we need, yes.”

He could’ve claimed Hermione fought him for her wand, or that he was held up by professors on his way out of the castle with her, but if he were to willingly help Potter … this was a line he couldn’t go back across. What if he Stunned Potter now, and dragged him downstairs? Hermione certainly wouldn’t forgive him, but the Dark Lord–

Potter suddenly opened his hand and showed Draco his own wand. “You let me take this, didn’t you?”

Draco swallowed.

“You don’t have to do anything else,” said the boy he used to call Scarhead. “You saved my best friend, so you’re one of us, Malfoy. If we get through this the Order’ll protect you, and your family. I swear it.”

“If you can _really_ beat him …” Potter nodded. “… I’ll try and help.” _Damn, Granger’s Gryffindor is rubbing off on me._

He didn’t have long to study Potter’s grateful expression as he followed the shorter boy through the door into the towering stacks of Hidden Things.

Their momentary delay, however, allowed two figures to catch the door before it fully closed.

*** *** ***

Hermione was impressed at Ron’s imitation of Harry’s Parselmouth hiss. She was much less impressed, however, by the filthy pipe they were forced to slide down. Ron seemed to know where he was going; he leapt to his feet as soon as they landed awkwardly at the bottom and grabbed her hand to pull her along.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Hermione muttered. She nearly slammed into Ron when they came close to tripping over a massive crumbling snakeskin.

“Yeah, that thing was here before. Last time I only made it this far, and then there was a cave-in, so Harry went on alone …”

They carefully climbed through a hole in fallen rock and continued down the tunnel, wands held aloft, until Ron spotted two entwined, carved serpents on a blank wall. They drew closer, and Ron repeating the hissing sound. Hermione stayed behind him as the snakes split apart and the wall yawned open.

Hermione gripped Ron’s warm hand and thought bitterly, _why’d it have to be SNAKES?_

*** *** ***


	18. Of Death and Destruction

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 18: Of Death and Destruction**

Potter was breathless as he pressed ahead, running through miles of teetering stacks of books, furniture, and other detritus. He yelled instructions to Draco over his shoulder.

“How in the bloody hell is a tiara supposed to help?” Draco yelled back.

“It belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw … Ugh!” Draco nearly crashed into him as Potter suddenly halted at an intersection and swore. He glanced up and down the aisles, unsure where to go next.

“Hold on … Potter … what does this bloody thing look like?” Draco tried to catch his breath. Not playing Quidditch this year had left him horribly out of shape.

“Should be silver with blue gems …” A poorly aimed hex flew past the two boys, just brushing Draco’s arm. He spun; wand raised. Behind him, he sensed Potter raising his own wand.

Draco froze.

*** *** ***

Hermione knelt on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, facing the golden cup of Helga Hufflepuff. She practically _felt_ the soul of Voldemort stir within the cup when the deadly fang drew close. Ron was shouting something at her, but it sounded like he was yelling at her from underwater. As soon as the voice started speaking, all other reality disappeared. Her worst nightmares were taunting her.

_“… a worthless witch … regardless of your magic you will never belong in this world because of your filthy blood … pity you were already an outcast in the other world as well …”_

“STAB the damned thing, Hermione! Don’t listen to it!” She couldn’t hear her friend at all.

_“Now, abandoning your friends to consort with the enemy? Harboring lust for your sworn rival? He will betray you yet, foolish girl. His kind only side with those of the greatest power. Your parents would be disgusted … Shame they’ve no idea who their only daughter is, but perhaps this is better because you can disappoint them no longer–”_

Hermione screamed and brought the Basilisk fang down with all her might. The disembodied voice seemed to scream with her, and the cup shattered beneath her hands. She felt the sudden burst of energy drain out of her, and she slumped sideways, exhausted.

Ron caught her quickly and yanked the fang away from her before she caught herself in the leg with it. She fell into his arms and sobbed. Even under all the slime, his familiar scent was comforting.

“It doesn’t matter, Hermione,” he murmured to her gently. His fingers ran through her messy tangles the way they did when she had a nightmare. “Whatever it said, it was wrong. Hey, we did it! Only two more to go!”

Ron’s hope gave her strength and she let him pull her to her feet.

*** *** ***

“Nice going Draco, now we take Potty downstairs and win the war!” Crabbe sounded pleased. Draco stared at him.

“Wait,” Goyle said suddenly. “He hexed us downstairs–”

“Was a mistake,” Crabbe insisted. “He didn’t see us properly. Draco’s on _our_ side, everyone knows that.”

 _Am I?_ Draco didn’t like this. He faced his two old friends, with Potter just behind him, all holding their wands at the ready. Potter said nothing to the others; he seemed to be waiting for Draco to make the first move.

“Draco!” Crabbe hissed. “What’re you waiting for?”

The blond swallowed.

Finally, Potter could stand still no longer. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Goyle’s wand shot out of his hand; he immediately cursed at Potter, but it was Draco who caught the wand.

The two Slytherins gaped in horror as Draco gave them one rueful look and then took a step backwards to stand properly beside Potter.

“You had the Mudblood,” Goyle growled. “Dad said you were torturing her, but she had a wand … you _let her GO!_ ”

“ _TRAITOR! Avada Kedavra!”_ Crabbe screamed. Draco blessed his old friend’s horrible aim as he easily ducked the green light. He pushed Potter aside as Goyle lunged for them; Potter flew sideways into a mountain of junk, which began to tremble. Draco ended up on his back with Goyle straddling him. Both wands had fallen from his hand.

Goyle’s angry fists pounded into Draco’s chest and jaw, until finally Draco managed to grip his mother’s wand and utter “ _Impedimenta!_ ” through a split lip. Goyle froze just long enough for Draco to get out from under him, but Crabbe was waiting. Draco dodged the blast of red light and turned wildly, looking for Potter.

A marble bust of someone’s head flew past and almost hit Draco in the head, but Potter caught it; it was topped by a curly wig and a shiny tiara. “Got it!” Potter shouted triumphantly, but it was short-lived.

Even Goyle stared in horror. Crabbe had set the nearest stack of junk on fire.

*** *** ***

Hermione levitated herself and Ron back up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. More yellowing Basilisk fangs were tucked safely in her bag. Bangs and rumbles around the castle told them the battle raged on.

Ron didn’t seem to want to let go of Hermione’s hand, and she didn’t argue. They sprinted from the bathroom and made for the stairs; they had to find Harry.

Hermione spotted oncoming figures before Ron did and jerked him around a corner just in time; a bright red light missed him by a hair. She aimed back around the corner and screamed “ _Stupefy!”_ which was met with a satisfying thud, but two more Death Eaters were still coming at them. Hermione felt her confidence flowing through her arm from her wand, as though its restoration to her hand reminded her what she fought for, and she cursed the next figure dead-on while Ron dispatched the other.

He snatched her hand again and they raced for the stairs. As they reached the top, a large _BOOM_ sounded to their left and they both lost their footing, falling into each other as they tried to escape the falling debris from a sudden wide opening in the castle wall.

“They have giants,” Hermione whispered disbelievingly. Ron helped her scramble back to her feet as they ran on.

*** *** ***

“ _What’ve you done?!”_ Draco screamed. They all knew about Fiendfyre, but Crabbe set it loose _inside the room_ … Draco didn’t have a hope of controlling it, and Crabbe even less so.

“Malfoy!” Potter gripped him by the arm and pulled him around the nearest corner just as a tumbling pile of burning junk almost buried him. Goyle clambered after them, cursing Crabbe, who waited around the next corner laughing as he tried to direct the flames in Potter’s direction.

“Like it hot, scum?” Crabbe roared.

Draco nearly tripped over a stack of broomsticks that had fallen at his feet. “Potter!” he yelled and tossed one to the other boy. He mounted his own just in time as the next pile of junk began to fall, threatening to crush them.

“Goyle!” Draco shouted from the air; the other boy had been pinned beneath a fallen cabinet. Potter heard; from his own broom he shot a Reductor Curse at the cabinet which broke into several pieces, allowing Goyle to free himself. Draco heard Crabbe screaming at Potter and curses being exchanged as Draco dove to grab Goyle’s massive hand. Somehow the heavy wizard managed to scramble onto the broom behind him.

The flames were now so dense around them that Draco had to practically rise to the ceiling before he could see around the inferno; his eyes burned as he dodged a fiery dragon. There was a loud crash. Finally, Draco spotted Potter ahead, circling a mass of junk that had clearly just collapsed and was now consumed by a flaming chimera.

Potter’s horrified eyes met Draco’s for a split second, and Draco knew. Crabbe wasn’t getting out.

*** *** ***

_The door’s too far_ , Draco thought. They wouldn’t make it … the fiery beasts were closing in. His and Goyle’s combined weight on the old broom was too much and they could barely see through the smoke.

Potter was ahead, he’d get out and shut the door, locking them in, for his own safety. For the safety of the castle. It would be the smart thing to do, to contain the fire. Goyle tried to kill him, after all, and Draco didn’t deserve better …

Goyle’s shrieks in his ear couldn’t make the old broom go any faster … they may as well be dead already. Draco felt the fire licking his wrist as it burned the sleeve of his robes.

Potter reached the door …

… and screamed at them to hurry. He desperately started sending Shield Charms in their direction to fend off the licking flames. Draco urged the broom to go faster … could they make it? Potter was getting touched by flames, too; the silver circlet around his arm reflected the fire burning his sleeves. He could change his mind and leave …

He didn’t. The Gryffindor held the door wide until Draco and Goyle flew past him, and then he followed, slamming the door behind him with all his might.

*** *** ***

“Harry!”

Ron and Hermione sped up as they reached the wreckage of the seventh-floor corridor where Harry and Draco lay on the floor panting beside battered broomsticks. Goyle had run off the second his feet touched the ground, but Draco didn’t care. He let go of the broom and refocused his grip on his wand as Hermione ran over and fell to her knees next to them.

“You’re both all smoky, was there a fire? What happened?”

“Hermione, look,” Harry held up the diadem, which leaked unpleasant black ooze. She gaped at it.

“Fiendfyre,” Draco coughed in a raspy voice. “Crabbe … h– he …”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said softly. Draco believed he was being genuine, but he just hung his head, not knowing how to answer. Vince was an idiot, but he didn’t deserve to die like that. He focused on Hermione’s warm hand squeezing his, and she helped him to his feet as Ron tugged Harry up.

“It’s gone, then?” Ron said breathlessly, staring at the diadem. “Just one more?”

“Yeah,” Harry said as though he couldn’t believe it. “Just one more.”

*** *** ***

Harry opened his mind and sensed the presence of Voldemort – and the snake – in the Shrieking Shack. Draco watched, utterly pale, and figured he must be mad to be following these three lunatics …

Yet he ran behind Potter down the stairs, Hermione by his side, dodging curses and leaping over mounds of debris on the floor. Every time he saw another Death Eater he wondered if it was his father. He tried not to think of what would happen if he faced him–

Hermione’s sudden scream forced his attention to his right. Giant spiders were crawling through a hole in the side of the castle. He grabbed her and dove backwards out of the way. They fired spell after spell at the spiders, but the few that went down didn’t stop the rest. Many had run past them – Potter and Weasley had vanished into the next corridor, pursued by several – and one massive spider was now bearing down on Draco.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Hermione’s and Draco’s voices were not alone. The triple Stunner knocked the spider out completely and Draco stared in the direction of the other voice.

“Blaise?” His friend scrambled over a mess of spider legs to reach them and promptly punched Draco in the arm. “OW! You prick–”

“Where the bloody hell have you been!?” Blaise sounded furious; he had several cuts across his cheeks and neck and his robes were torn, but he gaped at the state of other two. Draco had ashy hair, burned robes, and a bruised face from Goyle. Hermione was covered in plaster dust and the slime of the Chamber of Secrets.

“Harry–” Hermione tried to follow the direction the Gryffindors disappeared, but Draco seized her wrist.

“They’re too far ahead; the spiders–”

“No!” she fought him and raised her wand to make him release her, but Blaise stopped her quickly.

“Granger, we should–”

“ _NO!_ ” she burst into tears of frustration. _I can’t lose them again!_ She began to argue with the Slytherins, but bursts of magic exploded over their heads and cracks appeared in the stone. Someone was trying to bring the ceiling down.

The three students dove out of the way as the stone broke into pieces and came down with a _CRASH._ Dust filled the air. Coughing, Hermione tried to get her bearings. A large chunk of ceiling had crushed a nearby Acromantula, and another piece pinned her ankle firmly in place. On either side of her, Draco and Blaise were wheezing and trying to get the dust from their eyes, but they seemed unhurt.

A group of Death Eaters mounted the stairs at the end of the corridor. Hermione screamed curses at them and two went down, but four more began firing back. She conjured a Shield just in time, but Draco was hit with a Stunning Spell.

“STOP!” One of the Death Eaters commanded the others. “That’s the Malfoy boy, he’s with us!”

“He was supposed to bring the Mudblood–”

“No, he let the filth have a wand!” one of the others spat. “Like his father the boy is, he’s useless!”

“Kill him!”

All logic vanished from Blaise’s mind as he leapt to his feet and tore down the corridor towards the invaders, dodging spells. He Stunned one Death Eater on his way to punching out two more. _She was right, they never expected it._

Meanwhile, behind her Shield Charm, Hermione revived Draco and tried to free her ankle. Their attention, however, was distracted when a bloody-nosed Death Eater rose behind Blaise, wand aimed directly at his head.

“NO!” Draco seemed to forget he was a wizard. He flew down the corridor, threw himself at the Death Eater, and dragged him by the wand arm away from his friend. Hermione took careful aim. She levitated a piece of broken ceiling and knocked out the wizard Blaise fought. Blaise turned just in time to see the Death Eater behind him holding his best friend in a headlock.

Blaise, too, forgot his wand and seized the Death Eater around the neck to pull him off Draco. Once Draco was clear, Hermione Petrified the hooded figure. Blaise threw the man down furiously and pulled Draco to his feet before rushing back to Hermione. He heaved the chunk of broken ceiling off her ankle and she let out a moan.

“Can you stand?” Blaise seized her hands and pulled her up. She gingerly put weight on her foot and shook her head.

“I think it’s broken,” she gritted through her teeth. Draco scooped her into his arms before she could protest. He nodded to Blaise, who led the way down the stairs.

*** *** ***

Leaving Hermione with Malfoy again wasn’t what they wanted, but Harry yelled to Ron what happened in the Room of Requirement as they ran through the chaos of the battle. Ron was at least convinced Malfoy wouldn’t kill Hermione before they could get back to her.

It wasn’t easy, but Harry and Ron managed to squeeze around the battle and crawl through the Whomping Willow’s tunnel.

From under the Cloak, Harry listened to Voldemort’s discussion with Snape and witnessed Nagini’s attack. He ran to Snape’s side and Ron managed to Transfigure a broken piece of window glass into a vial of sorts to hold Snape’s last memories.

With a final rattling breath, Snape was gone.

*** *** ***

Draco moved more slowly with Hermione in his arms. She kept her wand at the ready as they followed Blaise down the corridors. Noise echoed from every direction, but they listened carefully for bangs or yells drawing nearer. Blaise told them the entire Order of the Phoenix showed up and rallied in the Great Hall. Hermione’s heart leapt at the thought of rejoining them, but she wondered how they knew to come. Was there a spy in the Death Eater ranks?

Hermione’s weight in Draco’s arms was reassuring. If he intended to formally declare his loyalty to one side, he’d prefer to do it protecting one of their most beloved fighters. The Order would surely trust him now … if only they could _get_ there.

They were nearly at the Great Hall when they were ambushed at the top of the marble staircase. Hermione’s quick Shield Charm saved her and Draco, but Blaise was hit in the arm with a Slicing Hex and started spouting blood. Draco and Hermione took down two of the Death Eaters and Blaise managed to trip a third.

The Death Eaters duelled viciously, and the trio was quickly surrounded by more hooded figures.

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Helpful bursts of light appeared from the bottom of the staircase. The Death Eaters couldn’t turn quick enough between the newcomers and the trio at the top of the stairs. After a few minutes of desperate duelling only one Death Eater remained standing, which Blaise knocked out cold with his uninjured arm.

Hermione cried out in relief, “Neville, Luna!” Their saviours raced up the marble stairs and Draco gingerly set Hermione on her feet, allowing her to throw her arms around Neville’s neck as he pulled her into a fierce hug.

“ _You’re okay!_ Harry said … we thought …”

“Yes, I’m alright, but Neville, _look_ at you!” One of Neville’s eyes was swollen shut and he was covered with so many marks and bruises he looked as though he’d lost a row with Grawp.

“I’m still standing!” Neville said cheerfully. Luna, beaming, threw her arms around Hermione next while Neville carefully looked at the Slytherins. Blaise held his sleeve tightly around his bleeding arm and Draco watched the Entrance Hall cautiously.

Luna released Hermione and looked at the bashful figure behind her. “Thank you, Draco Malfoy.”

“I– I didn’t …”

“Yes, you did.” Luna said firmly, but with a gentle smile.

Neville glanced at Hermione. He read between the lines and promptly extended his hand. “Malfoy,”

Draco went pink but took the offered hand. _In for a Knut, in for a Galleon._ “Longbottom.”

No sooner had they dropped hands than a terrifying echo resounded through the castle.

*** *** ***

“ _… One hour._ ”

Harry and Ron tore back out of the entrance to the Whomping Willow and dashed for the castle. Ron glanced inside the Great Hall and spotted a large group of redheads. He looked at Harry quickly, who nonverbally sent him inside.

As Ron dashed over to his family, Harry realized something horrible. The Weasleys were gathered around a body, and there were two more lying next to him.

Even at a distance, Harry knew all three lifeless faces.

He turned away and ran up the marble staircase.

*** *** ***

Hermione and company had just entered the Great Hall when she spotted Ron dashing over to join his family. She felt a jolt in her stomach – where was Harry?

Professor McGonagall approached Hermione’s group with a concerned face. “Miss Granger are you–?”

“Just my ankle, Professor,” Hermione reassured her from Neville’s arms. She followed her teacher’s gaze to the two Slytherins who followed them silently through the doors. “They’re with us, Professor. I swear it.” Professor McGonagall looked carefully at the boys. Luna stood primly next to Draco and tilted her head, patiently awaiting the professor’s verdict. Draco’s face was like stone. He wished he could’ve carried Hermione through the doors, but Longbottom insisted.

“Mr. Zabini,” Professor McGonagall said gently. “You’re injured, come this way. Longbottom, over here too,” She led them towards some haphazard seats along the wall. Neville set Hermione down carefully and was immediately hailed by Professor Flitwick to help move more people into the Hall. Professor McGonagall murmured a spell that warmed Hermione’s ankle, and then magically bound it so it would stay in place. Hermione murmured her thanks as her professor motioned impatiently to the hesitant Slytherins.

Blaise slowly took a seat beside Hermione and Professor McGonagall cleaned and bound his cut arm. “You should have a Blood Replenishing Potion, but we are in short supply,” she said with a sigh. “Please try to stay seated and you shouldn’t get too dizzy.” She bustled off towards the top of the Hall where Madam Pomfrey seemed to be running a temporary hospital ward. Blaise turned to his friend, who was paler than usual. No other Slytherins were present in the Hall.

“Professor McGonagall trusts Hermione very much,” Luna explained easily as she took Draco’s elbow and made him sit by Blaise. “That’s good enough for us.” She turned to help Hermione to her feet while the boys exchanged bemused looks.

Hermione could put weight on her sore ankle with Luna’s help. She needed to find Harry quickly and make sure he wouldn’t stupidly run off to face Voldemort. She headed in the direction of all the red hair, hoping to find him with Ron. Luna supported her as they made their way over; Hermione tried to keep her tears in as they passed the row of corpses. She recognized a few people, but nobody she knew very well–

Until she saw the figures stretched out near the Weasleys. Remus and Tonks had been placed side by side, and the sight alone would’ve sent Hermione into tears. But next to them, the unmoving body of Fred Weasley made her cry out in anguish.

*** *** ***

Harry descended the marble staircase covered in the Cloak and dared not glance into the Great Hall. He knew what needed to happen and seeing them would make it harder.

_At least I got to see Hermione again._

As he gathered all his courage, Harry Potter walked into the Forbidden Forest to die.

*** *** ***

Draco leapt to his feet when he heard Hermione cry out. He instinctively made to run in her direction, but Blaise stopped him. “It’s not her,” he murmured. Down the Hall they could see Hermione collapsing into Ron Weasley’s arms. They held each other tightly. Luna sat on Ron’s other side with her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s one of the twins,” Blaise said under his breath. His sharp eyes caught a glimpse of the body when they entered the Hall. Draco slowly returned to his seat, trying to think about something other than why he wanted to run to Hermione’s side when he recognized her cry.

Draco had no siblings to lose, but the very idea of losing one’s _twin_ was unthinkable. He wondered how many Death Eaters had been killed, and whether they would be mourned like this. 

What if I don't make it through the night, he wondered. Would she cry for me like that?

*** *** ***

_“Harry Potter is dead …”_

A broken scream came from the other side of Fred’s still body. _Ginny_.

Hermione and Ron leapt to their feet and they barely understood the rest of Voldemort’s speech in their desperate hurry to get outside. Anyone in the Great Hall still able to stand began crashing into each other as they raced for the doors. Hermione ignored the pains in her ankle as she raced to keep up with Ron’s long legs.

Draco had kept half an eye on Hermione and saw her jump to her feet. Without thinking, he ran to catch up with her. Blaise tried to follow but cursed as he was sidelined by the crowd.

“NO!” Professor McGonagall of all people managed to fight to the front of the crowd first. Her uncharacteristic scream of horror made everyone else believe the worst. Perhaps some hoped that Voldemort was lying to draw them out.

But it was true. Before them stood a massive crowd of Death Eaters led by Voldemort himself, and there was no mistaking the stiff, bespectacled body in Hagrid’s massive arms.

“No, Ginny!” Percy grabbed her around the waist to stop her from running forward. Ginny let out a horrible cry and clung to her brother’s arm. Hermione sobbed and she felt Ron’s long arms wrap around her tightly, tears streaming down his face and leaking onto her shoulder.

On Hermione’s other side, Draco stared forward in disbelief. _Potter was supposed to win._ Cold filled his chest like ice water. The crowd of remaining Death Eaters facing them was enormous; the Order was vastly outnumbered.

_It’s all over._

*** *** ***


	19. Of Friends and Families

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 19: Of Friends and Families**

The crowd pouring from the castle screamed in horror and denial as Harry Potter was laid motionless before the Dark Lord’s feet, but Narcissa barely noticed.

She desperately scanned the Hogwarts crowd for a white-blond head. When she finally found him, she let out a relieved cry and grabbed her husband’s hand, who squeezed tightly. Draco’s hair was a dirty mess and his robes were torn, but he was alive.

She took a cautious step forwards and called for her son.

*** *** ***

Draco had been staring at the stiff body on the ground but froze when he heard his mother’s voice. _She’s here?_ He found his parents quickly in the crowd thanks to their matching light hair. Narcissa’s gentle arms were open, calling him to her. Calling him home. Draco stepped forward.

A warm, slightly dirty hand suddenly stopped him in his tracks. _Hermione._ Draco turned back to look at her, just once. She would understand he needed to go to his mother. Family was _everything_.

Hermione’s face streamed with tears, and Draco suspected she was only still standing because Weasley held her so tightly. He dared to glance at her face, fully expecting her to plead him to stay and fight with them. To _die_ with them.

But her face was calm. She was crying and shaking, but the look in her eyes was full of forgiveness. She squeezed his hand gently.

And then she let go.

*** *** ***

Distantly Draco heard Lucius call for him, too. They wanted him safe with them. On the winning side, as always.

Hermione knew him well at this point; she understood that he would choose his family.

But she wasn’t the only one watching him. Draco’s exhausted grey eyes flicked from face to face. Most of the Hogwarts crowd heard his parents calling and were watching to see what he’d do. A few people – mostly Gryffindors – seemed to be narrowing their eyes at him in challenge.

He locked eyes with Professor McGonagall, who had trusted him without question. The older woman’s face was full of sadness. Luna Lovegood, behind Ron, was crying – he hadn’t even seen her cry when she was a prisoner in his cellar. She trusted him, too. She’d _thanked_ him. Now, like McGonagall, she looked at him with understanding. They didn’t fault him.

Draco turned slowly and met his parents’ desperate eyes. They needed him. _Family is everything._

But they were surrounded by monsters. The Death Eaters waited, and he saw a mix of grimaces, indifference, and hatred. A tiny, terrified glance at the sneer on Voldemort’s barely human face said he was just waiting for Draco to crawl back over there. He’d meet his punishment and pay the price for his disobedience, which he could not deny. He was standing next to the Mudblood he should’ve delivered or killed.

Draco never felt colder in his life, but he could still feel the warmth lingering in his hand from Hermione’s touch.

Lucius would not hesitate to move. But Draco was supposed to be _better_.

With one last desperate glance to his other side, Draco managed to spot Blaise in the crowd thanks to his dark skin and hair. His friend said he’d never fight against him; he risked his own skin for Draco tonight, and told him with a glance that he would follow Draco to the other side without question.

_Family is EVERYTHING._

_But … is family only blood?_

He’d probably never find a way to get everything he wanted, but suddenly, Draco understood what he had to do.

*** *** ***

Hermione couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to breathe anymore. Harry was gone. Malfoy would abandon them. No matter how much she expected he wouldn’t change, she still felt his betrayal like a shard of broken glass in her chest, and every nightmare was mocking her. Even the sight of Voldemort himself across the grounds couldn’t make her feel worse.

She gripped her wand tightly and focused on Ron’s arms holding her steady. She knew they would fight together – right to the end. They’d take down as many of those horrid creatures facing them as possible.

Not in her wildest dreams did she expect the pale figure on her left to step backward and reach for her hand again.

Shouts of fury from the Death Eaters filled the grounds, and curses were immediately thrown towards the Hogwarts crowd on the front lawn.

Draco was terrible at Shield Charms, but Hermione was quick. She protected them both, and Weasley’s quick Shield reinforced hers. Draco sensed rather than saw Blaise fight his way through the crowd in their direction, his own magic adding to the plethora of protection the Hogwarts crowd had suddenly conjured. Nobody was killed or even injured as they furiously built a wall of defensive magic. Draco looked in awe at the strength possessed by so few in the face of so much darkness.

“SILENCE!”

Everything came to a halt as the seething Dark Lord stepped forward. Voldemort must’ve thought Draco was less important than his victory against Harry Potter, because he didn’t spare him another glance.

“Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!”

“He beat you!” yelled Ron.

The defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming … suddenly a figure broke free from the crowd and hurled themselves towards Voldemort in fury. Draco tensed – _Longbottom really IS a Gryffindor …_

“And who is this? Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?”

“It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble!”

Bellatrix had stared at Draco in horror after he stepped back; now she seemed utterly delighted at the prospect of going after Longbottom. Her nephew’s fate was merely a passing thought in her mind.

 _I was right_ , Draco thought. _Family isn’t blood_.

“I’ll join you when hell freezes over,” said Neville. “Dumbledore’s Army!” he shouted, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd, on whom Voldemort’s Silencing Charms seemed inexplicably useless.

Voldemort’s tone was quiet, but his voice carried, nonetheless. “On your head be it,”

Seconds later, the Sorting Hat forced onto Neville’s head burst into flame. Hermione broke into a scream and tried to run forward, but Ron and Draco simultaneously stopped her.

Draco was suddenly turning his head frantically trying to keep up. A crowd swarmed into the grounds from Hogsmeade and attacked the Death Eaters, led by yet another Weasley and someone that looked oddly like Dumbledore; Hermione and Ron yelled out for Neville as he struggled with the Hat; centaurs exploded from the Forest, hitting the Death Eaters with their arrows; he lost sight of his parents through the chaos; Blaise was trying to get him to move; Longbottom suddenly had a _sword_ in his hand …?

And Harry Potter’s body was missing. Draco was dimly aware of Hermione screaming for Harry over the din coming from every direction, but the crowd outside began to force the Hogwarts group back through the doors. Blaise snatched Draco’s sleeve so they wouldn’t be separated again, and Draco lost sight of Hermione as the crowd was forced to retreat into the Entrance Hall.

Draco and Blaise turned in all directions, trying to figure out who was on which side. Without warning, the crowd suddenly multiplied with the onset of an army of house-elves armed with sharp kitchen tools.

Blaise grabbed his friend’s hand and they backed halfway up the marble staircase. Trusting Blaise’s ability with a Shield Charm, Draco began to hex every standing Death Eater he could see.

*** *** ***

Hermione and Ron were forced into the Great Hall and nearly wrenched apart by the oncoming crowd. Hermione fired curses in every direction but stopped short when one of her nightmares entered the Hall.

Bellatrix Lestrange … followed by Fenrir Greyback.

She heard Ron’s shout from behind her and suddenly her friend grabbed the attention of everyone he could to face the two most feared Death Eaters. Ginny and Luna came up alongside Hermione and the three duelled Bellatrix together while Ron and several others attacked Greyback. Hermione sensed Ron trying to draw the werewolf away from her; she remembered his evil voice against her ear with a horrible shiver.

Bellatrix was gaining on the three young witches, who retreated desperately from the woman’s horrible grin. She switched from red beams of light to green, and a sudden shout made all four witches freeze.

“NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!”

The girls were all but shoved out of the way as Mrs. Weasley stepped up to duel Bellatrix. Hermione watched for an opening to assist, but it wasn’t necessary … the Weasley matriarch was _intense_.

Around them, their friends and family battled with all their might. Ron and Neville took down Greyback together, George and Lee Jordan defeated Yaxley, curses bounced uselessly off Hagrid, who picked up Macnair and threw him across the Hall–

Hermione, Luna, and Ginny were almost pressed against the wall as the two remaining duels with Bellatrix and Voldemort practically dominated the entire space. Molly Weasley stood strong, even through Bellatrix’s torturous taunts, and finally, while everyone around held their breath, the red-headed witch won the duel.

Voldemort let out a horrible scream and everyone in the Hall froze in shock as though a bomb had been dropped. Hermione and Ginny cried out for Molly as Voldemort turned his wand on her, but a powerful Shield Charm out of nowhere saved her–

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth as Harry Potter threw his Invisibility Cloak to the side.

*** *** ***

On the marble staircase, Draco and Blaise stood steady as the Entrance Hall almost cleared; all remaining fighters had either run away or moved into the Great Hall. Draco still looked furiously for his parents; he hadn’t seen them come in. Even if the Order lost now, perhaps he could keep his parents alive if he took out enough Death Eaters–

Voldemort’s scream of fury made Draco nearly fall backwards in fear; it was the single most terrifying sound he’d ever heard, but it was followed by a sound he wouldn’t’ve expected in a hundred years.

A loud echo of cries: “Harry! HE’S ALIVE!”

 _The Boy-Who-Lived … Again?_ Draco and Blaise exchanged a look and pushed through the crowd into the Great Hall. They went unnoticed among the hundreds watching the Chosen One circling the Dark Lord.

_Potter … he’s talking to him like an equal!_

“You won’t be killing anyone else tonight … I know lots of important things that you don’t …”

“… you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?”

“I believe both,” said Harry.

The conversation continued. Blaise and Draco were hanging on every word, but Draco subconsciously searched the crowd for his parents. Had they gotten themselves out?

“Severus Snape wasn’t yours,” said Harry. “Snape was Dumbledore’s …” Draco wasn’t the only one in the crowd who reacted in shock.

Voldemort continued to argue, but he was faltering under Harry’s belligerent confidence.

“Snape never beat Dumbledore!”

“I removed it against its last master’s wishes! Its power is mine!”

“The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.”

If Draco had been dumbfounded before, he was now paralyzed. The crowd around them seemed to suddenly notice his presence and people were staring.

“… after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy …” Draco had no time to react. Blaise stepped in front of him, completely shielding him from view. _I guess he was part Gryffindor all along …_

Suddenly ashamed of himself, Draco no longer wanted to hide. He stepped out from behind his friend and shot him a grateful look, which Blaise might’ve returned if Potter hadn’t suddenly announced:

“You’ve missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him.”

 _No_ , Draco realized with a start. _He didn’t … I GAVE it to him …_ But one of Potter’s earlier proclamations rang in his head: “ _The wand chooses the wizard …_ ”

Potter had been using his wand all day, probably for weeks. If it was surrendered willingly … did that mean it was his?

“I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”

“ _Avada Kedavra!”_

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Sunrise streamed through the enchanted ceiling. Several hundred witches and wizards held their breath as Tom Riddle fell to the floor.

*** *** **

As though a Muffling Charm had lifted, the hundreds around the Hall who had been watching in silent horror simultaneously screamed in triumph, joy, and relief.

Hermione’s hair never looked worse, but she never felt lighter. The weight of _everything_ was gone. She half-ran, half-stumbled through the crowd to Harry, who was already trapped in a very tight, fierce hug from Ron. He pulled one arm away from Ron and caught Hermione. She clung to him with all her might.

Harry’s arms shouldn’t be there; his green eyes should be closed forever and there should be a deep, dark emptiness inside that she would carry for the rest of her life.

But he was here. He was _real_. His warm arm held her tightly and his heartbeat against her tear-stained cheeks was stronger than ever.

*** *** ***

Hermione stayed at Ron’s side as their best friend was swept away by a happy crowd. They didn’t mind; they had all the time in the world now.

The crowd was unlike anything they’d experienced. All around people were hugging, kissing, crying. Nobody seemed to care that they were hugging strangers or trampling the bodies of Death Eaters under their feet. The fifty fallen defenders of Hogwarts were being reverently relocated.

Happy tears streamed down her face as Hermione hugged more people than she ever had in her life. She could hardly believe how tall Neville stood as he clutched her tightly in his arms while she told him this couldn’t have happened without him. Luna grabbed Ron by the arm tightly and kept saying _I told you!_

News of Hermione’s capture had reached the Weasleys through Bill, and they’d been as terrified for her as Harry and Ron. Most of the Weasley boys kissed Hermione’s cheeks in relief, Molly clung to her as tightly as she did to Ron, and though Ginny wasn’t usually an emotional girl, she cried into Hermione’s shoulder for a full fifteen minutes after things settled down a little.

At long last Hermione had her damaged ankle healed and she managed to cross the Hall to where Draco sat with his family. Blaise chatted away cheerfully with Narcissa, who held her son’s hand firmly in her lap. Lucius kept glancing nervously around the room as though waiting to be attacked.

Ron came up beside Hermione and watched the Malfoys suspiciously. He’d seen enough to believe Draco was alright, but he didn’t trust his parents. Hermione quietly told Ron that Narcissa had been a prisoner of the Manor just as much as her son; she trusted fully that Narcissa cared only for her son’s safety. She wasn’t their enemy.

Unfortunately, she could not defend Lucius, but she was spared doing so. The Aurors that were rounding up the straggling and Stunned Death Eaters finally reached him. Several words went back and forth, but Lucius clearly resigned himself to his fate. He relinquished the wand he carried, clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder, and leaned in to kiss his wife before willingly leaving the room with the Aurors.

Hermione watched Draco squeeze his mother’s hand as she obviously struggled to hold back tears. He seemed to feel Hermione’s eyes on him, and a moment later he left his mother with Blaise and quietly walked over to Hermione and Ron. Professor McGonagall was nearby, and she inconspicuously leaned in their direction.

Hermione dropped Ron’s hand and took two steps forward, promptly placing a kiss on Draco’s cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured as the blond turned pink. She stepped backwards and looked at Ron out of the corner of her eye. To her surprise, the boys spoke at the same time.

“Look, Weasley–”

“Malfoy–”

There was a moment of silence. Draco looked back at his mother and thought about how his family was whole, something that would never be true of Weasley’s family again, even though Draco was the one who gambled everything. _If Granger can be part Slytherin and Blaise can be part Gryffindor … I guess I can be part Hufflepuff._

Slowly, Draco flexed his fingers and extended his hand. “I’m … I’m sorry you lost your brother.”

Ron was silent for a moment. He carefully reached over and shook Draco’s hand, but he kept his eyes narrowed slightly. “Y’know, Malfoy, if I didn’t know better … I’d say you were almost becoming a decent person.”

Everything was so overwhelming that Hermione had to laugh. Draco scowled in her direction which made Ron break into a grin. Professor McGonagall just shook her head, exhausted. Some things would never change.

*** *** ***

It would take weeks for the three Gryffindors to recount all their stories to each other, but Hermione was dying to find out how they found the last horcruxes. After Harry spoke to Dumbledore’s portrait, they told her about their plan to break into Gringotts.

“So, we got to Diagon Alley alright, and nobody really noticed Ron ‘til one of the Death Eaters, Travers, wanted to know who he was. Ron spun this story about how he was from Bulgaria, it was his first time to London, and he was in town to claim the contents of a vault that belonged to his cousin who left him everything when he died.”

“It was a good story!” Ron said determinedly. Harry grinned at Hermione.

“He tried to copy Krum’s accent, and it wasn’t very convincing.”

“Travers bought it,” Ron grumbled.

“Did he leave you alone?” Hermione asked breathlessly.

Harry shook his head. “He followed us all the way into Gringotts. I had to Confund the two guards at the door and when we got in Ron managed to shake Travers once we got into the caves.”

“So, you Confunded a goblin, too?”

“Imperius Curse,” Harry admitted. “It worked at first, but as soon as the cart took off all kinds of security alarms went nuts, guards were after us, and all our spells stopped working. Obviously, they knew someone was gonna go after the vault.”

“My disguise got washed away, and Harry lost control of the other goblin,” Ron said. “We re-Imperiused him and he got us past the dragon–”

“The what?” Hermione said weakly. The boys grinned at each other. It could not be plainer that they’d been dying to see her reaction.

“There was a dragon guarding the vaults,” Harry continued. “We made the other goblin let us into the vault but there were enchantments on the stuff inside. If you touched something it burned and then duplicated, so pretty soon we were practically drowning in hot gold.” Hermione gasped. Harry was a good storyteller; even though they were perfectly fine – clearly – he made it sound as though all hope had been lost.

“I found the cup, though, way up in the vault. Ron used _Levicorpus_ on me to get me up there and I used the sword to reach the cup. Griphook betrayed us, though.” Harry’s voice became bitter. “He got hold of the sword as soon as I came back down, and he tried to sell us out to the guards even though I saved him from the burning gold.”

“Git,” Ron grumbled.

“How’d you get past the guards? Were they all goblins?”

“Nope, wizards too. We Stunned a few, but the dragon was kind of helpful–”

“Harry was brilliant,” Ron beamed. “He managed to break the dragon’s chains and then he bloody climbs on top of the thing–”

“You DIDN’T!”

Harry chuckled. “I didn’t have my logical sister there to give me an alternative!”

“I leave you alone for a couple weeks and you wind up _riding a DRAGON out of Gringotts!?_ ”

*** *** ***

Hermione could hardly keep lecturing her boys since they managed to survive against all odds, and she was desperate to hear the rest of their story. They praised the contents of her beaded bag for making their adventures possible.

“Well I’m glad the Dittany helped, but you didn’t even make a plan before just Apparating to Hogsmeade!?”

“When did any of our plans actually _work?_ ” Harry said, resigned. “After I had the vision, we Apparated there under the Cloak. It turned out there was a Caterwauling Charm, so they knew someone was on the streets. And they threw up anti-Apparition enchantments, so we were stuck. Lucky nobody can Summon the Cloak though, ‘cause they tried.”

“Thought we were done for, but the old bloke from the Hog’s Head let us in and covered for us,” Ron continued. “And you’ll never guess who he is!”

“Aberforth Dumbledore,” Hermione answered. The boys looked disappointed and she gave them her know-it-all look. “I heard Professor McGonagall speaking with him after the battle. When we went to the Hog’s Head in fifth year I suspected he was related; they have the same eyes.”

“OK, yeah, well it was him.” Harry went on. “It turns out he got hold of Sirius’ old two-way mirror from Mundungus, and it was _his_ eye in it that I saw–”

“He sent Dobby?” Hermione gasped in understanding. Harry nodded sadly. He told Hermione in a quiet voice what Aberforth revealed about the Dumbledore family, and Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes.

“He had a portrait of his sister; it opened into a tunnel that led to the Room of Requirement. That’s how we got in. Neville met up with us and filled us in on everything, and we got around sixty hugs–”

“The DA was all over us to help–”

“We knew you wouldn’t approve, but we were desperate, so we told them we were looking for something–”

“Neville used the coins to tell Luna and Ginny that we were getting ready to fight–”

“Wait, _that’s_ how the Order knew to come?” Hermione cut in, confused.

Harry beamed at her. “I bet you never thought when you cast that Protean Charm that you’d save Hogwarts, Hermione.” She turned bright pink, and Ron reached over to squeeze her shoulder with a grin. They were clearly avoiding her inevitable lectures by praising her brilliance, and she saw right through it, but she hardly cared. She was far too relieved that everything worked out.

“Luna took me up to Ravenclaw to show me what the lost diadem looked like, but one of the Carrows was waiting there. She summoned Voldemort, then the other one broke into the room with McGonagall. He got mouthy with her–”

“Oh, Harry …” Hermione knew him well.

“Yeah, so I might’ve Crucio-ed him and knocked him out …” Ron chuckled at his friend and Hermione smiled, despite herself. “Then McGonagall went about securing the school, we ran into Snape and he jumped out a window–”

“I always said he was part bat,” Ron commented. Harry gave him a bit of a look, and Ron looked slightly abashed.

“Yeah, I think he was,” Harry murmured.

“What did you do next?” Hermione pressed.

“Oh, I found the Grey Lady of Ravenclaw Tower. Her ghost told me about her mother’s diadem–”

“Her _mother’s_ –?”

“She’s Ravenclaw’s daughter. She told me about Voldemort; when he was in school, he found the diadem and hid it.”

“And you realized where to look for it–”

“Yeah, and as I was talking to her, Ron remembered about the Chamber of Secrets. A few minutes later … well, we found you.” Harry grinned at her.

*** *** ***

“… and finally, this comprehensive list identifies all surviving individuals who were either accused of Death Eater activities, had previous associations with Voldemort, or were closely tied with convicted Death Eaters.” Kingsley Shacklebolt placed a rather long roll of parchment on the table before the committee. “These individuals will be held in Azkaban until the time of their trials.”

Minerva McGonagall, Arthur and Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter were exhausted. These six were chosen by the majority to represent the will of the Order of the Phoenix before the newly elected Minister for Magic and voice their opinions and concerns regarding new laws and regulations for the Ministry to consider upon the ending of the Second Wizarding War. Harry was unanimously chosen by the other five to be their voice, trusting him to speak for the best of them.

This was the final item for the committee to review, at the end of a rather long and frustrating day. The parchment unfurled itself to show the names of the surviving accused Death Eaters.

Harry shook his head and reached for his wand.

_Malfoy, Draco Lucius: Accused of attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore, use of Unforgiveable Curses, and of incarceration and torture of fellow Hogwarts students._

_Malfoy, Narcissa Cassiopeia: Accused of harboring known Death Eaters and of holding innocents in captivity._

Harry tapped the parchment twice to draw thick black lines through these words.

Hermione looked over at him in gratitude and Ron sighed in his exhaustion but nodded his approval. Minerva’s tight, fierce lips cracked a small smile.

Kingsley’s eyes passed over each of them briefly and he withdrew his wand to emboss his official seal at the bottom of the parchment.

“Meeting adjourned.”

*** *** ***


	20. Of Trials and Testimonies

**Harry Potter and the Elemental Mage**

**CHAPTER 20: Of Trials and Testimonies**

After the First Wizarding War, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement under the rule of Bartemius Crouch suspended certain rules so Voldemort’s supporters would be wiped out as quickly as possible, and many suspected Death Eaters were thrown in Azkaban without trial.

Since he knew personally that Sirius Black was unjustly imprisoned, Kingsley Shacklebolt decreed after the Second Wizarding War that any suspected Death Eater or Voldemort-supporter would stand trial. With the help of the Order of the Phoenix committee, Kingsley also suspended an old rule that Veritaserum was forbidden in court proceedings. Not only would the Ministry prevent sending innocent people to Azkaban, but they’d quickly find Death Eaters still at large; all convicted wizards were asked under the Truth Potion to provide names of other Voldemort-supporters they knew of.

Harry approached his friends bashfully for help one day. Kingsley asked him to attend most of the trials and speak either for or against the accused; he believed Harry’s testimony would gain sympathy for innocent people who might otherwise be convicted. While Harry had no trouble duelling in front of a crowd, public speaking was a different matter. He confessed to Hermione that he feared to be viewed as a bumbling idiot or an entitled authority figure.

“I defeated Voldemort, fine,” Harry muttered. “But I didn’t do it alone, and it’s not like I want to come off as King of the Wizarding World or something. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m like Lockhart or Fudge.” Hermione patiently talked him through everything she knew about wizarding court, and what they would expect from a witness like Harry.

“They’ll know from Veritaserum if the person acted of free will or not, and they’ll pass verdicts based on the person’s crimes. What they want from you is a judge of the person’s _character_. If you don’t know the person, you can simply say so. If you do know them, you offer your opinion whether they’re dangerous or not. They’ll trust _you_ to know.”

Ron simply clapped his best mate on the shoulder and added, “You’re _Harry Potter_.”

*** *** ***

The _Daily Prophet_ was carefully monitored after the war for accuracy as it circulated lists of missing witches and wizards – loved ones were still desperately trying to track down runaway or captured family members – and photos of known Death Eaters still at large. St. Mungo’s rapidly filled with prisoners and reluctant fighters who had been tortured or controlled. Runaway Muggle-borns and “blood-traitors” were being found and welcomed back into wizarding society.

Harry was asked for many interviews, but he rarely spoke to the _Prophet_ directly. He asked that they focus on the restructure of the Ministry and the rebuilding of wizarding society instead of wasting time painting him as the hero. With Harry’s permission, however, Ron did an interview with the _Prophet_ in June so the full story of Voldemort and his horcruxes could be told. There were many rumors circulating about how Voldemort survived death – and how Harry survived death twice – and Hermione was concerned. Misinformation may lead other wizards to think horcruxes were a good idea, or perhaps others would try to challenge Harry for the Elder Wand.

Ron told their story as truthfully as possible, avoiding only specific details. He praised the other war heroes, especially those who destroyed the horcruxes, honoured Dumbledore’s part in the defeat of Voldemort, and emphasized firmly that Harry had the Deathly Hallows destroyed so nobody could try and use them. None but the three of them knew Harry kept his Cloak or returned the Elder Wand to rest with Dumbledore.

*** *** ***

The trials of the accused Death Eaters and Voldemort-supporters took months to complete. Many people had been rescued from the influence of the Imperius Curse, such as Stan Shunpike, and Harry’s confident voice ensured their trials ended quickly.

Any Death Eaters who’d escaped Azkaban during the war were promptly returned to newly re-enforced maximum-security cells. All wizards accused of willing torture, murder, or unsolicited imprisonment of innocents were sentenced to life in Azkaban. A few sentences were shortened for several terrified Death Eaters who threw themselves to the mercy of the Order when Voldemort fell. As Azkaban filled nearly to capacity, Kingsley organised a team to begin constructing expansions. Departments erected during the war – like the Muggle-Born Registration Committee – were quickly shut down, and the employees were reassigned to Azkaban to reinforce the prison and work guard duty in place of Dementors, which the Minister refused to reinstate.

The _Prophet_ had a hard time keeping up with the sheer number of trials, but any trial that had Harry Potter’s presence was covered in detail.

Kingsley complied with Harry’s request that neither Narcissa nor Draco Malfoy were held in Azkaban, but both had to relinquish their wands until their trials. Narcissa’s brief trial generated much shock as Harry stood up on her behalf to relay that she lied to Voldemort directly to save his life. Under Veritaserum, Narcissa admitted that she never tortured or killed anyone herself, but she had cooperated with the Death Eaters. She was required to complete six months of house arrest, during which time a team of Aurors and curse-breakers would inspect Malfoy Manor for remaining Dark artifacts.

Under Veritaserum, Lucius Malfoy admitted he’d spent nearly the entire previous year wandless and committed no crimes during this time. He’d never committed murder, and during the Battle of Hogwarts he only defended himself and his wife, after which he willingly surrendered. He had, however, performed the Torture Curse on many occasions, controlled others with the Imperius Curse, and escaped Azkaban during a prior incomplete sentence for these crimes. One year was added to his sentence as punishment for escaping and working with Voldemort, but far more dangerous criminals had already filled the maximum-security areas of Azkaban. Despite the nearly decade-long sentence, Lucius would be in lower-security prison and allowed to receive post and visitors, to his wife’s great relief.

Much to Hermione’s frustration, the anti-Slytherin bias trickled all the way up to the courts due to lingering fear from Hogwarts parents – the cause wasn’t helped by the _Prophet’s_ use of the phrase “You-Know-Who’s house” to describe Slytherin.

All underage Slytherins received strict warnings from the Ministry that any suspicion of Dark activity would warrant investigation, but all adult Slytherins were required to stand full trial to gauge their loyalty to Voldemort’s cause. Luckily, some Slytherin-bias dissipated after Horace Slughorn’s trial was over in minutes; Kingsley Shacklebolt himself declared that Slughorn fought Voldemort personally at his side, and he was reinstated as Hogwarts Potions Master without further ado.

No of-age Slytherin witches were held accountable for any crimes, as only two of them had parents with Death Eater connections. But even these – Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode – had committed no crimes themselves and were acquitted with warnings.

Blaise Zabini was required to torture students by the Carrows but expressed regret and – blushingly – admitted that he held Hermione Granger captive but never harmed her. He also protected her during the Battle, and several eyewitnesses reported that Zabini took down Death Eaters at the Battle, so he was fully pardoned.

Gregory Goyle confessed to having planned the capture and surrender of Harry Potter with his deceased friend Vincent Crabbe. He also willingly tortured students and admitted he enjoyed it. Since he was still young, he was only sentenced to seven months in Azkaban, but his wand use would be traced for Dark activity for five years following his release.

Theodore Nott hadn’t been present at the Battle of Hogwarts. Like many, he never raised a wand to his fellow students except under duress. He also stated firmly that he had no sympathy for his terrifying Death Eater father – who would’ve been convicted for life had he survived the Battle – so he was released with only a warning.

One of the most widely publicized trials was that of Harry Potter’s school rival, and probably the most well-known Slytherin of their year.

Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy’s reputation as a bully was quite well known and he wasn’t exactly the most likable wizard, so even under Veritaserum he couldn’t gain the full support of the Wizengamot. Many wanted to blame him for Dumbledore’s death given that Draco snuck Death Eaters into the school in the first place.

Then Harry Potter bravely took the witness stand, also under Veritaserum at his own insistence.

To Draco’s great shock, Harry revealed that he witnessed Dumbledore’s death. Harry heard everything, including how Draco had been coerced by threats against his family. He asserted that Draco’s wrongdoing against other students occurred by accident, and that Draco resisted murdering Dumbledore despite his opportunity.

Next, Harry discussed their capture at Malfoy Manor. Draco not only denied Harry’s identity and relinquished his own wand, but he’d taken responsibility for Hermione and saved her life twice, regardless of six years of rivalry. Draco stared at his hands while Harry spoke, convinced his face was as bright as Weasley’s hair. Potter didn’t lie, but his descriptions of Draco’s terrified and desperate actions painted him like a hero.

Harry’s determined testimony was followed by Neville Longbottom, who was dubbed a war hero himself. Neville recalled the moment Draco stepped back to their side to continue fighting when it seemed Voldemort had won. Neville then turned slightly pink as he admitted it was Draco’s uncharacteristic show of bravery that encouraged him to stand up to Voldemort himself.

Finally, the Wizengamot ruled in Draco Malfoy’s favour; however, he was determined to be “too easily influenced” and remained “quite vulnerable”. He was sentenced to house arrest alongside his mother until September first, then he’d be placed under the protective care and watchful eye of Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall to continue to prove himself a trustworthy ally. He was warned that an instance of any Dark magic on his part would overturn his sentence.

As the gavel came down, Draco rose slowly on shaking legs, hardly daring to believe it. Everyone he cared for was safe, and he was free.

_I did it. I found a way._

*** *** ***

Many tears were shed in the remainder of May as the Order of the Phoenix honoured each witch and wizard who gave their lives to defeat Voldemort. In addition to the fifty who died at the Battle of Hogwarts, nearly two hundred others had fallen to the Death Eaters during the war. Most were given burial ceremonies organised around the concurrent Death Eater trials, and a Memorial Fountain embossed with each name was erected in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic in place of the horrific _Magic is Might_ statue.

Harry attended as many funerals as possible between the trials, and he held himself together surprisingly well. After the influence he had over Draco Malfoy’s trial, Harry’s confidence in public speaking improved immensely, and he was asked to speak at many of the services. Harry did so for everyone he knew, and the _Prophet_ praised him constantly as “Voice of the Wizarding World.” Harry admitted to his friends he preferred it to _Chosen One_ , because at least he earned this title on his own.

At the funeral of Rufus Scrimgeour, Harry made a very meaningful speech about the stresses of holding a position of power during threats of war, and he admired anyone who could act in such a role. Nobody but his closest friends could tell Harry disliked the man. The late, redeemed Severus Snape was interred in Godric’s Hollow, not far from Lily and James Potter, and Harry managed an honourable speech while only choking twice. But at the joint funeral in which Tonks and Remus were laid to rest, Harry finally broke down completely and couldn’t finish speaking.

When he wasn’t spending time with Ginny, talking quietly with Ron and Hermione, writing funeral speeches, or organizing his testimonies against Death Eaters, Harry spent time with his baby godson. Andromeda Tonks had lost her entire family and she allowed nobody but Harry to take her grandson from her arms. Harry rocked Teddy Lupin close to his chest and whispered to him what wonderful, brave people his parents were. In his small periods of free time Harry wrote down his best memories of Remus and Tonks so he could share them with Teddy one day.

*** *** ***

Hermione cried the most on the day they buried the funniest wizard she ever met.

Fred Weasley was given a memorial ceremony by the Order, but the family wouldn’t allow his burial to be a public event. On May the fourteenth only Harry, Hermione, and Lee Jordan were invited to Shell Cottage with the Weasleys to lay their brother to rest.

The simple burial ceremony was led by a choking Arthur Weasley. Percy refused to let go of Ron, who could hardly keep his breath steady in his attempts not to sob. Bill held his tearful wife in his arms, and Charlie sat on the ground cuddling Ginny against him while she cried.

The ceremony ended, but the rest of the family was unwilling to leave George by himself. He sat sprawled on the ground near the headstone staring at the carved image of his twin. He hadn’t shed tears since the Battle, and he hadn’t moved from his spot for nearly an hour. Lee stood nearby, tear tracks running down his cheeks, but he seemed apprehensive about approaching the grieving twin.

Hermione stood holding hands with Harry, but she knew he’d be alright without her. She gently squeezed his hand and he let her go. He turned solemnly to hug Mrs. Weasley, who seemed quite beyond tears. She patted his hair softly and whispered to him how grateful she was that he saved her family.

Hermione walked slowly to the headstone. Shell Cottage was indeed a beautiful place; earlier Harry showed her where they erected the small headstone for Dobby. She shed special tears for the elf who sacrificed himself for her best friends. Now she knelt next to George with her hand on his shoulder. He still didn’t move, but his eyes followed Hermione as she gently kissed her fingertips and placed them lightly on the carven image of Fred. George let out a sniff and leaned into Hermione’s open arms, finally letting his tears flow.

She didn’t know how long George wept into her shoulder, but she didn’t speak. When she’d mourned her own parents, she remembered how Harry gave her the comfort and silence she needed. She stroked George’s back softly and gazed at the stone image of Fred, admiring the likeness. Perhaps it was magic – she thought there was a slight twinkle in his eye. At the bottom of the epitaph read the same words Harry engraved on Remus’s headstone: _Mischief Managed_.

George slowly extracted his head from Hermione’s damp shoulder. She carefully helped him to his feet, and he pulled her into his arms. He choked “Thank you,” only loud enough for her to hear. She held his hand as the family began to move towards the cottage. Fleur was preparing lunch, and Bill purchased a bottle of Fred’s favourite whiskey to make a toast. Percy and Ron coaxed Lee inside and Charlie carried Ginny through the door on his back.

Hermione and George reached the cottage last, followed by Mrs. Weasley and Harry. Molly kissed her son on the cheek, then gave Hermione a hug and quietly thanked her for looking after George. She slipped into the cottage and Harry took Hermione’s hand again. George looked at the two of them, all tears now spent. Harry put his other hand on George’s shoulder, and gently said he and Hermione would leave the family to mourn in private now.

George shook his head, tears threatening to fall once again, and whispered, “You don’t have red hair, but you’re Weasleys too.”

*** *** ***

All activity at Hogwarts came to a complete stop after the Battle. Priority was given to catching the remaining Death Eaters, healing the wounded, and honouring the dead. For nearly two months the castle stood alone, wounded, and grim.

Newly appointed Headmistress McGonagall re-opened the school gates on July the first. She ushered in a carefully selected crew of curse-breakers – led by Bill Weasley – to remove all lingering Dark magic. Next day, a volunteer group of students, staff, and parents – led by Molly Weasley – anxiously filed in to rebuild the castle into its former glory, a symbol of that which Voldemort could not destroy.

Everyone took shelter in the untouched house common rooms while they spent several weeks repairing walls, fixing broken enchantments, and holding back their tears.

Molly Weasley was the most determined project manager Hermione had ever seen. Perhaps she took the death of her son as a catalyst to restore the school. She flitted through the corridors keeping everyone under close watch as they reconstructed walls, rebuilt staircases, and restored portraits. She nearly scared poor Neville into a frenzy when she accosted him for rebuilding a staircase without the trick step – Neville had tripped in it one too many times and had been determined to see it gone. Molly would hear no excuses; the castle would be just as it was before.

Sadly, Harry and Hermione discovered it would be impossible to resurrect the Room of Requirement, as it was likely created by the founders themselves and its magic was destroyed by Fiendfyre. One small consolation was that Molly didn’t know the Room, having only passed through it quickly the day of the battle, so she didn’t realize this piece of Hogwarts wouldn’t be coming back.

George only managed several days in the reconstruction before he broke down, admitting to Ginny that he couldn’t bear to be there without his partner in crime. She gently relayed the information to the others as George quietly slipped away and returned to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Ginny had already sent an owl to beg Lee Jordan to help her brother manage the shop.

Hermione threw herself into the reconstruction with almost as much ferocity as Mrs. Weasley. She obliterated piles of dust and debris, rebuilt the library almost single-handedly, and even – to Ron’s great surprise – assisted with rebuilding the Quidditch pitch. She, too, wanted things to be as they were.

*** *** ***

Blaise claimed to be sick of Italy – and his mother – and just a few weeks into the summer he exasperatedly begged for permission to move into Malfoy Manor. Draco allowed it, begrudgingly on the surface, knowing perfectly well that Blaise only wanted to keep him company during his house arrest. Narcissa was thrilled to have a visitor and doted on Blaise constantly, much to Draco’s chagrin.

Blaise technically lived in the room next to Draco’s but often would camp in Draco’s large bed since the two were so used to talking each other to sleep. Draco deliberately avoided thinking of the difference between his friend’s presence and that of the last person who shared the bed.

Desperate to distract himself, Draco dove into the family library to re-learn things he’d forgotten over the last couple years and to work on his nonverbal magic. Blaise assisted for a while, but Draco angrily banished his friend from the library after Blaise casually pointed out that the stack of books Draco inexplicably kept off to the side seemed like books a certain Gryffindor would enjoy. Blaise didn’t argue but cheerfully helped Narcissa in her endeavour to redesign the Manor.

Two weeks after Draco’s trial, Theo Nott came to join them. He’d also been acquitted, and the boys celebrated by consuming several bottles of Firewhisky and – to Narcissa’s mild displeasure and hint of amusement – knocking out under the dining room table.

The next day, three ancient house-elves arrived in the foyer, claiming they belonged to the Nott family but were requested to provide service to the Malfoy family as Master would not be needing them. Draco immediately tried to Floo to Nott Estates to find out what was going on, but Theo was nowhere to be found.

*** *** ***

Harry bravely returned to Privet Drive for the last time to retrieve the personal items he left behind. To his amazement, the Dursleys not only refrained from binning his possessions but permitted him entry to the house without argument. They followed the news and weren’t unaware of the number of strange deaths in past months, from which Dudley insisted that Harry saved them.

Harry brought Hermione along as magical backup but also as a fellow sympathizer with Muggle customs. She charmed the Dursleys easily with her polite manner, appropriate attire, and surprising knowledge of drills. Harry regretted not having Hermione along during prior summers in lieu of the friendly but Muggle-oblivious Weasleys. It was perhaps the first time Hermione was treated _better_ when a strange family learned she was Muggle-born.

Thanks to Hermione – and Dudley – Harry departed from the Dursleys in good graces.

*** *** ***

Harry and Hermione gladly accepted the Weasley’s invitation to move into the Burrow permanently. After the Hogwarts reconstruction they’d all learned useful skills in magical architecture and took it upon themselves to make overdue expansions to the old Weasley home.

Hermione banished the ghoul in the attic, to Ron’s delight. The upper floors were redesigned to create new bedrooms for Ron, Percy, Harry – whose bedroom Mrs. Weasley insisted on building herself – Hermione, Ginny, and Charlie, who planned to return to Britain permanently. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s room off the main floor remained the same at Molly’s insistence, but she gratefully accepted help expanding the kitchen and dining space to accommodate the extended family. Andromeda Tonks visited often with Teddy, and Bill and Fleur came for dinner every Friday. George lived with Lee above their shop but could be persuaded to visit every couple of weeks – being at the Burrow remained difficult for the surviving twin.

Harry and Ginny all but flew into their revived relationship, and even Mrs. Weasley chose to turn a blind eye when Ginny was more likely to be found in Harry’s room than her own. Charlie and Ron gave Harry a “hurt our sister and we’ll hurt you” speech, but Ginny herself reminded them that if Harry hurt her, it was _her_ wrath he needed to fear more than her brothers’.

Harry and the Weasleys played Quidditch often. Harry flatly refused to replace his lost Firebolt from Sirius, but after several weeks of carefully considering broom options he ordered himself a Nimbus Three Thousand. Ron and Ginny took turns Keeping and Chasing while Harry raced Charlie to catch his old Snitch.

Bill and Fleur popped in unexpectedly on a Tuesday night to announce they were expecting a baby. Mrs. Weasley and Fleur had long since reconciled their differences, but everyone beamed at the sight of the Weasley matriarch bawling into Fleur’s shoulder all evening and feeding her so much soothing tea Fleur insisted she was drowning.

Luna visited regularly after she and her father rebuilt their home nearby. Xeno Lovegood began taking in young witches orphaned by the war, all of whom Luna entertained with elaborate stories of the brave fighters at the Battle of Hogwarts. One day Luna brought one of her foster sisters to meet Ron, who the little girl seemed to fancy thanks to Luna’s brilliant storytelling. Hermione and Ginny held back giggles as Ron dramatically described the Gringotts escape to the wide-eyed witch. His epic version included two dragons and a cauldron full of cursed gold.

Steady news flowed into the Burrow from the Ministry. Arthur ran the new Department for the Regulation and Destruction of Dangerous Objects and Charlie was climbing ranks in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which made his mother much happier than his prior dragon-taming job. Percy had been with Fred when he died; though none of the family blamed him in the slightest Percy seemed determined to avenge his brother’s death by catching every surviving Death Eater, so he joined Gawain Robards’ team in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He wasn’t trained as a field Auror, so Percy worked tirelessly in the office tracking Death Eater activity and following up on sightings.

Kingsley was proving to be one of the best Ministers for Magic the elder Weasleys had seen in their lifetime; the whole of the Ministry was undergoing restructure under his direction and many less-than-worthy wizards were pulled from office in favour of previously outcast Muggle-borns and blood traitors. The Burrow residents were pleased to hear one of the people pulled from office the fastest was Dolores Umbridge.

*** *** ***

At the start of August, Harry, Ron, and Hermione received official letters from Professor McGonagall offering them a chance to return to Hogwarts for their seventh year. Their alternative was to take their NEWTs directly through the Ministry if they decided not to return to school. Ron took a bit of convincing, but they agreed going back was the better plan, though Harry frequently joked they’d never need to take Defence Against the Dark Arts again.

The Weasley clan visited Diagon Alley in August. Harry and Ron stayed clear of Gringotts, but they visited George and Lee, Flourish and Blotts, and Mr. Ollivander’s newly opened shop, which remained dusty as ever. Mr. Ollivander was so grateful to the boys for saving him from Malfoy Manor that he refused to allow Ron to pay for his replacement wand, as his original wasn’t recovered from the Snatchers.

Harry eyed a snowy owl at Eeylops with tears in his eyes, and Hermione refused to enter the Magical Menagerie when Ron went in to buy supplies for Pig. Hermione had decided the previous summer that Crookshanks, being half-Kneazle and well attuned to danger, could help protect her parents. She bid a sad farewell to her pet and wove into her parents’ Memory Charms that Crookshanks was their beloved rescue who never left their side.

Neville visited one day with a roster of who was returning to Hogwarts. Despite his Gran’s hints that he should join the Ministry as an Auror, Neville decided a seventh year without the Carrows was just what he needed. He’d been offered extra hours with Professor Sprout to work toward his desired Herbology career, but he kept that bit of information away from Augusta for the time being.

Their classmates sporting injuries from the Battle were recovering well, although Lavender Brown had been permanently affected by her bite from Fenrir Greyback and now bore wolfish characteristics not unlike Bill Weasley. Ashamed of her own appearance and still recovering, Lavender opted not to return to Hogwarts. Most of the other Gryffindors intended to return, but Neville didn’t report on the Slytherins, so Hermione wondered silently if she’d see Draco there. She thought of writing after his trial but hadn’t been able to decide what to say.

Funerals, trials, and changes aside, never had four friends been so happy as to board the Hogwarts Express on September the first, finally with full expectations of a normal school year.

*** *** ***

The professor tied a scarf loosely round his neck and retrieved his satchel. On the way out the door, he paused to glance at his reflection in the small mirror. For a moment, he allowed his true eyes to flash at his reflection before they faded back to the blue his students would see.

He smiled inwardly as he left the house and turned on the spot to Apparate to Hogsmeade.

_I’m coming for you, little one._

*** *** ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch for VOL II: Resistance coming January 2021!
> 
> VOL II Summary: At long last the war has ended, and the survivors are desperate to return to normal. They have no idea their quiet year is threatened by a dark shadow unlike anything they’ve faced before, and all may be lost if an unwilling heroine resists her destiny.


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